


The Commander's Omega

by sarahyellow



Series: Commander's Omega [1]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), The Handmaid's Tale - Margaret Atwood
Genre: Alpha Steve Rogers, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Dystopia, Commander Steve, Corporal Punishment, Explicit Sexual Content, Forced Pregnancy, Handmaid Bucky, Happy Ending, M/M, Miscarriage, Mpreg, Non-Consensual Body Modification, Omega Bucky Barnes, Power Imbalance, References to The Handmaid's Tale - Margaret Atwood, Religious Fanaticism
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-19
Updated: 2018-07-22
Packaged: 2019-03-21 03:10:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 26
Words: 86,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13731879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarahyellow/pseuds/sarahyellow
Summary: After years of a mass infertility crisis, the United States is overtaken by religious fanatics and the country becomes Gilead. Bucky Barnes finds himself thrust into a brutal world of survival. When he's discovered to be fertile, he's forced to serve as a vessel--a caste of omegas who bear children for the political elite.Completely based on Margaret Atwood's book and the Hulu series,The Handmaid's Tale





	1. The Posting

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> chapter tags/warnings: mild gore, non-con body midification

Bucky hasn’t been sober for close going on four days. That’s the best he can guess, least ways. Alcohol is forbidden now but when the time for selections comes there are other drugs to be had; things to keep people like Bucky calm and compliant. The door to the room he’s in opens and in walk two men. One Bucky recognizes. He’s Brock—one of the guardians here. He’s one of the people who’re in charge of making sure Bucky and the other fertile omegas don’t escape or try to hurt themselves. 

The other guy looks like a civilian. His mandatory insignia marks him as alpha, but that's hardly necessary. He’s tall and blond and dressed in a suit that does only a little to hide how muscular he is. Bucky feels his mouth water a little when he sees him. He’s gorgeous; strong-jawed, wide-shouldered and slim-hipped—a textbook alpha . Bucky feels arousal mix in with the dazed feeling in his brain. He realizes that the guardians probably gave him some sort of benzo that morning to keep him calm for today. There _had_ been an extra pill in his cup at breakfast. _Oh well_ , Bucky thinks. He’s been living in a world gone fuzzy at the edges ever since he arrived at the red center and tried to attack one of the guardians. He’s doped up to keep him happy and pliant. One more pill isn’t going to make a difference. 

“This is him,” Brock is saying. The commander is looking right at Bucky. He has kind eyes, Bucky thinks. 

“Hello,” the commander says, surprising Bucky by speaking directly to him rather than to Brock. He steps closer and offers his hand. “I’m Commander Rogers.”

Bucky gulps. He’s shocked by his instant draw to this man. And what for? A kind look and a considerate gesture? It’s pathetic how little is needed to make Bucky feel special these days. “Um…” he flounders, caught up in the other man’s eyes. “I’m James.” He puts his hand in Commander Rogers’ and allows him to shake it. One glance over to Brock shows that the guardian is displeased, and Bucky yanks his hand back in haste. 

“Glad to meet you, James.” The commander looks like he genuinely means it. Bucky wonders if this guy is for real, or if he’s just trying to make Bucky feel at ease before he takes ownership of him. “I’m going to be taking you to my home today, if that’s alright?”

He says it like it’s an option, which nearly makes Bucky snort. One look at Brock’s taser, though, is enough to keep him from laughing. Bucky hasn’t had a choice in what happens to him in quite some time. “Yes,” he says to Commander Rogers instead, speaking from rote. “May the Lord make me truly worthy.”

For some reason, the words seem to make Commander Rogers uncomfortable. His eyes get tight at the edges, as if he would rather Bucky not have said anything so textbook-religious. But the thought is ridiculous, Bucky thinks after a moment of doubt. All of the commanders are True Believers, Sons of Jacob. That’s how they got to be commanders in the first place. It’s why Bucky and all the other omegas at the red center have been schooled to spit out measured phrases when they’re directly addressed—and to keep their mouths shut when they’re not.

“Transfer of custody should only take about a half hour,” Brock is explaining to Commander Rogers as he guides him from the room. Two caretakers come in then. One takes Bucky by the arm to follow behind. They split at some point, Commander Rogers taken somewhere by Brock—ostensibly to celebrate with a brandy or a cigarette or something else pleasant that’s not allowed to people like Bucky. Meanwhile, Bucky is taken to another room with a big machine in it. The machine makes a terribly loud noise when it’s turned on that makes Bucky wince. He knows what they're about to do to him so of course he struggles, but hands on his shoulders force him down into a chair, and the other caretaker approaches with what looks like a staple gun in hand. Bucky tenses up, tries to get up from the chair, but the hands hold him still.

The caretaker with the gun pauses when he tucks Bucky's hair back and gets a look at his ear. "Well shit. He's cut the old one off."

"So tag over it."

"...I'm not sure it'll wrap correctly. He's... missing the top third of his ear."

The second caretaker sighs. "Right ear, then."

He screams when they tag him, half an inch of metal piercing and wrapping around the upper cartilage of his ear. The drugs don’t do enough to dull that pain. 

When Bucky was taken from his last fight as a member of the resistance, he was black-bagged and shoved into a van. At the processing center he’d been spit on by people on the street, screamed at for being a blasphemer, a criminal and a whore. Now, leaving the red center, he couldn’t be faced with a more opposite greeting. Cameras from the state news service are pointed their way. People who’ve parked themselves outside on the sidewalk cry out to him and Commander Rogers as they make their way over to one of the big black SUVs. Everyone’s been waiting for them, Bucky realizes. They’re hopeful; holding hands and praying that soon people—people like Bucky and Rogers—will start making babies again. Vaguely, Bucky can remember when people used to do this same sort of thing outside of hospitals. It’d seemed odd but well-intentioned enough when his sister Elsa had been born; all those people lined up outside the emergency room, praying him and his already-laboring mother through the doors. Now, however, it’s plain unsettling. Nobody outside the red center seems to care that Bucky’s walked to the car by guardians with riot gear on. Nobody bats an eye at the fact that Bucky’s missing an _arm_. Then again, he thinks as he gets up into the SUV, why should they? He’s breeding stock after all. You don’t need arms for that.


	2. What Fighting Gets You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Tags/Warnings: involuntary body modification, body horror

“We’ll have order please.” A _knock_ of gavel on wooden block. “Mr. Gamble for the state.”

“Yes your honor.” A thin, reed-like man gets up and addresses the judge. “The accused stands charged with terrorism against the state, in violation of Romans, chapter thirteen, verse one through seven. By His word.”

“And do you swear by His name that the report you have submitted is the truth entirely?”

“Yes, I do so swear.”

“Then, in the name of God and his servants here on earth, the accused is hereby found guilty.”

Another _knock_ on wood, somehow more final than the last.

“Registered vessel 8967, true justice for your crime would see you condemned to death. But God has seen fit to make you fruitful, and by that we are bound. So, you are hereby sentenced to redemption.”

_Knock!_

All it takes is three minutes. Three minutes in front of a judge and three knocks of said judge’s gavel and Bucky’s fate is sealed. The same guardians who brought him into the courtroom guide him out, back down the long hallways, and outside to the waiting van. He’s shoved in the back and they drive and they drive, and when the doors open again and he’s pulled back out to stand on his feet, they’ve parked in front of the hospital. The guards escort him inside. There are Wives and Marthas and Econowives in the emergency room chairs, some of them hurt and others just looking ill. Bucky watches a little omega girl while the guardians sign him in. Used to be that designation was discovered upon puberty. But with things the way they are now, children get blood tested to find out. It gives them more time to get used to their enforced roles in society, Bucky supposes. It's sad; she’s young—probably no more than three years old. Young enough that she’s never known anything other than the world how it is now. She's a true, birthed citizen of Gilead, and something about that injustice breaks Bucky’s heart. More so even than the injustice that’s about to be done to him. The little girl, all dressed in pink and tear-stained from her broken arm that’s in a cast now, will never know what the world used to be like. She’ll never read, and she’ll never work, and she’ll never miss freedom. And worst of all is she won’t care, because she never had it to begin with. 

“Come on.” The guard on Bucky’s right grabs his arm and tugs it forward so that the admissions nurse can thread a hospital bracelet around his wrist. She clips it shut, the printed tag reading his name, age and blood type. The sight of it against his skin is jarring to Bucky. He doesn’t fail to notice how it’s been placed on his right wrist and not his left. “Let’s go,” the guard says, pulling again to get Bucky walking in the direction of the elevators.

They go up to the fifth floor of the hospital. Bucky’s told to take a shower and wash himself using antiseptic soap, then he’s given a hospital gown to put on. The guards stand watch while a nurse directs him to get up on the stretcher. Then they wheel him down the hallway towards the room that’s marked with a sign reading, “Surgery.” The guards post themselves on either side of the operating room doors while the nurse pushes the gurney through. 

There’s a doctor inside. She’s scrubbing up over by a little sink along the wall. Three nurses move about the room arranging things. The nurse that’s brought Bucky in pushes the gurney to rest underneath the bright lights. He has to blink to adjust his eyes to the glare. When he does he can see what everyone’s doing. The doctor has finished washing her hands and is allowing one of the nurses to put sterile latex gloves on her. Another nurse is calibrating the general anesthesia machine. Bucky’s eyes search for the third nurse and land on the metal tray table he’s arranged and is rolling over. It’s lined with white paper towels and on top of those are a number of medical instruments—forceps and tweezers, cotton balls and gauze. And a surgical marker. And a scalpel. And a bone saw.

Bucky’s vision fades before him. 

…

“…Going to get him transferred to the bed right here. Be careful.”

…

“…and set the morphine drip up like this. Apostates like him shouldn’t even be given this stuff if you ask me.”

…

When Bucky wakes up, he’s alone in a hospital bed, in a hospital room. He's nauseous and his throat is dry and he’s in pain but his foggy brain can’t make sense of why. He drifts in and out of consciousness for hours. Then when he wakes up fully, he realizes that his left arm is what hurts, and he remembers. He tips his head to the side and looks down. His left arm is gone.


	3. The Rogers' Household

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Tags/Warnings: Reference to involuntary body modification

The car ride to the Commander’s house is quiet. Bucky’s alone in the back while Steve—that’s his name, the driver said it—sits in the front passenger seat. Commander Rogers’ house is a large brick Tudor. A soldier posted at the front gate lets them in and they drive around to the back of the house where there are gardens and a garage. Commander Rogers gets out of the car and is already in the house by the time the gate guard comes back to let Bucky out of the locked back doors. 

Bucky looks at the guy. He’s a white guy with short blond hair and a bow and arrows strapped to his back. Bucky gets out of the car and stares at him. What’s almost stranger than the bow and arrows is the fact that the man’s insignia marks him as omega. Bucky doesn’t think he’s seen a single guardian of the faith who’s omega since this whole thing started, and it’s been almost four years now.

“Hi,” the man says, offering out his hand for Bucky to shake. “I’m Clint.”

Bucky hesitates but in the end does reach out to shake his hand. “Bucky.” It isn’t quite as taboo for vessels like Bucky to shake the hands of other omegas, at least. Still, the action makes him feel nervous, as if he’ll be spotted and get in trouble for the familiar touch. Which is ridiculous of course, Bucky tells himself. He’s no longer in the Red Center. There won’t be any Brocks here in Commander Rogers’ household to boss him around. …At least he hopes not. 

Inside the house it’s dim. The hardwood floors and moldings on the walls make the house seem old, but it’s nicely-furnished. Rich. Bucky’s been left on his own to explore so he does, trailing from one room to the next. If Commander Rogers has a family Bucky doesn’t encounter any of them. He finds the kitchen on the main level and sees that there’s someone in there kneading dough on the island countertop—a Martha. When she catches sight of him the woman looks up. “Oh. Hello,” she says. She doesn’t stop her work, hands digging into the dough over and over again. “You must be the new one.”

Bucky raises an eyebrow. “New one?”

The woman doesn’t answer him, but she really doesn’t have to. Obviously Bucky’s not the first vessel to be posted to the Rogers’ household. This isn’t his first posting either though, so he tries not to read too much into it. The previous omega mustn’t have been able to have a baby during their time here, just like Bucky hadn’t at his first posting. “I’m Bucky,” he volunteers to the Martha when it seems that she isn’t going to make the effort. 

Her eyes flick to him again, and Bucky doesn’t miss the way she takes in his lack of an arm. “What’d you do?” she asks rather than give her name. In another time, Bucky would’ve been offended, but things are so different from how they used to be. Bucky’s gotten used to not being respected very much at all.

“I fought,” is all he says. It’s all he needs to say, apparently, because the woman nods.

“I’m Sharon,” she offers. She stops kneading the dough and balls it up, dumping it into a bowl. She swipes the flour off her fingers and holds up her left hand. There’s a finger missing. “Tried to run that first year.”

Bucky doesn’t say anything to that, but he does nod. He wonders if she would’ve lost more than a finger if she hadn’t been a Beta. Marthas do need hands to get their work done, after all. What a strange world they live in, Bucky thinks, that now people can form comraderies over severed limbs. It almost makes him want to laugh. He doesn’t though. Instead he says goodbye to Sharon the Martha and leaves the kitchen. He makes his way up the grand staircase in the foyer and explores the second level of the house. He peeks his head through the door to what is obviously the master bedroom, if the size of the bed is anything to go by. But he doesn’t dare to go further. He isn’t sure if he’ll be asked to sleep in the same room as Commander Rogers or not. At his last posting, the commander had had a wife, so Bucky’d been given his own room away from the master suite. He’d liked it that way too, as Mrs. Putnam had been a woman who could be quite jealous. She hadn’t liked Bucky’s presence in her home at all, and Bucky had made a concerted effort to make himself scarce at all times. Well, all times except for ceremony nights, that was.

A little more exploring and Bucky finds a bedroom on the third floor that seems to be unoccupied. It’s so small and under-furnished that it gives Bucky hope that the space is being reserved for him. He certainly won’t complain if he’s required to be kept away in here. The room’s one window faces the back of the house, and there’s a comfy window bench that he can sit on and look out on the gardens if he wants to. No, Bucky thinks, he wouldn’t mind that at all. 

Not knowing what else to do, he sits down by the window and looks out. He can see the garage and guest house from here, and the trees and flowers that make up the garden. It’s pretty; very manicured. Commander Rogers must have a gardener on staff, he thinks. There’s partial visibility of the house next door as well. It looks to be of a similar style to Commander Rogers’. Bucky’s heard stories of property being taken from non-believers and given to the faithful. That’s how it’d been at the Putnam’s. He wonders whether Commander Rogers started out with this house or if it’d been stolen from some unfortunate Jewish family, or maybe a well-to-do pair of queer omegas. Had someone else lived here once? Entertained a happy life until it was taken away from them? It’s a morbid train of thought and Bucky decides to put it from his mind. That’s a large part of how his thinking goes, now: ignoring things, burying them under other, less dangerous thoughts. It’s the only way to stay sane, really. 

He sits there for a long time, enjoying the feeling of the September sun coming through the window. Things like the weather are some of the only things that haven’t changed. That can’t change, really. It’s a small comfort, and a safer resistance than fighting in the streets or back-talking a Commander. 

A knock comes at the door, and Bucky’s eyes shoot over. There’s another Martha, this one with red hair. She’s got Bucky’s suitcase in her hands. “Your things,” she says. She doesn’t smile at him, but at least she seems less hostile than Sharon had. 

“Thanks,” Bucky says. He gets up and takes the suitcase from her. She nods and makes to leave. Bucky figures he was right in assuming that this little room was set aside for him. There’s a small closet set into the wall by the door and Bucky goes over and opens it. He pulls the chain that dangles from the ceiling, illuminating the tiny space. Sighing, he goes to open his suitcase and take out his things. Before, Bucky had had quite a liking for clothes and fashion. It'd been near-painful for him when he'd moved into his college dorm and realized how small the closet was. Now he only has a few items of clothing, and none of them are what he’d call high fashion. They’re assigned to him; the same things that all vessels are given to wear, to mark them as other. He’s got five of everything, from the plain cotton briefs and undershirts to the bright red pants and shirts. Everything’s modest, of course, the shirts all having the same high collars to hide his neck. Bucky hangs each item up, silently hating each one. 

Red was never his color.


	4. A Different Kind of Household

First, the president and the ranking fifteen closest in command are assassinated. There’s an explosion that nobody can trace and just like that the whole cabinet goes. Bucky’s halfway through his Wednesday physics lecture when the professor stops what she’s doing and grabs the remote. The tv gets turned on and the one hundred and twelve people in the freshman lecture series watch it with a sense of surrealism. NYU winds up suspending all classes and Bucky takes the train home to spend time with his parents. George and Winnie put him up in his old room, which they haven’t yet bothered to empty out. There’s still a poster of Nine Inch Nails on the back of the door from Bucky’s alternative days. Becca, Trudy and Clair come home within the following week and the house is just as cramped as it ever was.

That’s how he finds himself at home when the news breaks that Congress has been eliminated. _Eliminated_ , that’s the word they use. Not an assassination. Now it’s a terrorist attack, and the martial law that’s been in place since two weeks ago has everyone in their homes by sundown. But there are already guardians patrolling the neighborhood streets as if they’re the ones in charge, and Bucky’s mom calls his dad and urges him to come home early from work. When she ends the call she comes back into the living room and joins Bucky and his sisters in sitting on the couch and watching the tv. Within hours, the news programs stop broadcasting. The TV shows only static. Within days, the missing news programs are replaced with just one—a state news channel.

The new broadcasts are bare-boned but they are very informative. The anchor who used to do the six o’clock news comes on for her new slot. She sits poised behind the news desk, making no comment for a long minute. There’s sweat visibly beading on her brow, but it’s obvious that she’s trying hard to maintain her composure while sitting in front of the large banner they’ve hung as a backdrop. “Good evening,” she finally says when someone or something off screen prompts her. Her hands clasp tightly atop the desk and she begins cheerfully reading off the news. Bucky looks worriedly to his mother because he’s not stupid—the newscaster lady looks almost exactly the same as she always had before, only now there’s an overly-eager look in her eyes; A sort of glassy enthusiasm radiating from them. It doesn’t take long for Bucky to figure out what that look is, what it means. It’s fear, and it means that Bucky should be afraid too. 

.oOo.

“Ofsteven, good afternoon.”

Bucky stares up from his seat at the window. Today is the third day in a row that he’s spent mostly staring out at the back yard. There’s a handsome African American man who tends to the flowers and bushes out there, and even though he wears Beta blue and Bucky’s not supposed to be attracted to him, he kind of is. But now Commander Rogers is standing awkwardly in the doorway to his room, and Bucky snaps to attention. “Commander,” he says respectfully. The commander gives him a tight sort of smile.

“You can call me Steve,” he offers gently. 

“That’s… not allowed?” It comes out as more of a question.

“I run my household a little differently, you’ll find,” _Steve_ says. He tips his head to the side permissively. “I’d prefer it if you called me Steve, especially since we’ll uh, be getting to know one another better.”

In another life Bucky would’ve blushed, but he’s been indoctrinated in some ways whether he’d like to admit it or not. He’s practically used to his role as an object by now. “Okay,” he agrees quietly. He doesn’t want to seem too eager to be breaking the rules, since this could just be commander Rogers’— _Steve’s_ he has to remind himself—way of tricking him. The bottoms of Bucky’s feet have scars from his disobedient acts of the past and he isn’t keen on earning more. “You can call me Bucky if you want,” he offers. “My family used to call me that.”

Steve nods. “Okay. Are any of them still around?”

“No.”

.oOo.

Steve has asked him to join him for lunch. Bucky’s pleasantly surprised. He’d thought commanders like Steve were too busy to take meals outside of their offices. Even now, nearly four years after the institution of biblical law, there are still insurgencies to deal with, and the restructuring of the country besides. 

But Steve leads him down to the little dining area in the conservatory off of the kitchen. It’s a pleasant little space with a dining table too big for just Bucky and Steve. Bucky’s taken aback when, after placing lunch onto the table for them, the Martha Sharon joins them. Shortly after, the redheaded woman— _Natasha_ , Bucky learns—and the gardener and the driver— _Sam_ and _Clint_ —join them as well. They all eat in relative silence, and Bucky spends the meal sneaking surreptitious glances at them all. They’re all eating together as if they were equals, when Bucky knows they very much are not. Steve is sitting at the head of the table right next to Bucky, and it comes as a shock when he says, “So how has everyone’s morning been?”

… Bucky keeps his eyes on his sandwich, sure that he’s not expected to answer first. Natasha is the one to speak out. 

“Well enough. I finished all the laundry for the week.” She glances reproachfully at Sam. “Unless _somebody_ makes an awful mess of his clothes going forward. Blood isn't exactly easy to get out, you know.” 

Sam chuckles. “I have a dirty job, sue me.” He looks at Steve. "Got the hedges done."

Bucky realizes after a beat that his mouth is gaping a little. He snaps it shut. This is the first time in three years that he’s observed Alphas, Betas and—well, not omegas _yet_ —speaking so freely with one another. It’s almost like _before_. The thought puts an ache in his chest, which he quickly squashes.

“How about you Bucky?”

Bucky’s eyes shoot up to see Steve and everyone else regarding him. He quickly swallows his bite of sandwich. “Um, I’ve been okay. Just been in my room.” The answer is so dull that it almost makes him feel embarrassed. Even now, when the highlights of other people’s days are as tedious as laundry and gardening, Bucky himself has nothing to offer in way of conversation. He doesn’t dare complain about being bored though.

“You must be getting bored up there in your room,” Steve observes.

“Um…”

“If you like, you can look around in the library and find something that interests you.”

Bucky feels his guts sink. His fingers feel cold where they hold his sandwich. “Excuse me?” he asks. Surely, _this_ is a trap. This is the Rogers’ household trying to see whether he’s a True Believer or not. Bucky feels sick at the prospect of getting in trouble. “I don’t think so,” he mumbles, looking back down to his plate. “That’s not allowed.”

There’s a long moment of awkward silence, and then Steve says, “Guys? Can you give us a minute?” Four chairs scrape against the stone floor of the conservatory and Natasha and the others make their way out. Bucky feels dread well in his gut. Has he said the wrong thing? “Bucky,” Steve says carefully. “Do you really think that it’s wrong for an omega to read?”

He can feel Steve’s eyes boring into his head, so he looks up. Steve doesn’t look upset, he looks genuinely interested. “I… was an engineering major, in college,” is what comes out of his mouth. “I minored in English Lit.” 

Steve nods sympathetically. “I take it you were quite an avid reader, then.”

“Yeah.”

Steve continues to eat his lunch as if Bucky hasn’t said anything wrong, and it gives Bucky hope. Surely this can’t be, he thinks. Surely there aren’t people like this, aren’t households like this, anymore. “Did you really mean it?” he asks. _Don’t get your hopes up, don’t hope._

“Yes. You can come to my office tonight, after I’ve finished with some business,” Steve says. “You can pick out some books.”

Bucky’s heart soars. “Can I take them back to my room?”

“Absolutely not,” Steve says sternly. For the first time he sounds like a commander. “My office is the only room in the house without windows,” he explains. “You may only read them in there.” He regards Bucky seriously. “Do you understand?”

Bucky swallows. “Okay.”


	5. Choosing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter tags/warnings: discussion of abortion

Bucky’s naked toes scrape the ledge of the exam table. He’s only wearing the flimsy gown they gave him, and frankly the room’s too cold for that. The door to the exam room opens and Bucky’s eyes shoot up. He sits up straighter. “Doctor?”

The man doesn’t look at him. He walks over to the cabinets in the room and drops the folder he’s holding onto it with a flourish and a sigh. Bucky screws up his face at having been ignored. “Um… what did the—”

“You’re pregnant,” the doctor says, still not turning around. “Congratulations.”

Bucky’s heart sinks. Sure, he’d suspected—hell, he’d pretty much known—this. Two positive at-home tests and a smiling pharmacist when he’d been desperate enough to buy a third had told him so. It’s why he’d come to the clinic. But still, _shit_. “Okay,” he says, swallowing heavily. “Okay. So do I need to make another appointment to come back or can we just…”

The doctor’s shoulders tense. Bucky can see it through his lab coat. “Excuse me?” he says. He turns around and the expression on his face makes Bucky want to shrink back. “‘ _Can we just_ ’? ‘Can we just’ what?”

“I told you,” Bucky says, wary of the other man and his reaction. “The pregnancy; I want to terminate.”

If Bucky had any doubts about what was going through the physician’s mind, they’re quickly quashed by the way the man’s face now dissolves into disgust. “Well isn't that a pretty way of putting it. You want an abortion?” he practically spits.

“Uh, yeah.” Bucky juts his chin out in defiance. “You got a problem with that?”

The doctor scoffs. “Yes I do. You know hardly anyone can have a baby anymore. You manage to get pregnant and you want to kill it?”

“It’s my choice.”

“You should be ashamed of yourself.” 

Bucky stands up, heedless of the fact that he’s dressed in only the hospital gown. “I don’t think you’re being very professional,” he says. Really, it’s not that this doctor’s opinion is that different from a lot of people’s these days, but he still feels infuriated at the fact that he’s having to have this argument with a doctor, of all people. “Now, do I have to make an appointment to come back?” he grits. 

The man’s features harden. “You’ll have to go somewhere else if you want to murder your own child. We don’t do that here.”

Bucky grits his teeth. “This is a city-funded clinic.” He’d specifically come here instead of the private doctor that his parents’ insurance could easily cover. “You have to provide reproductive heath care. It’s the _law_.”

“The law’s going to change real soon.” The doctor turns his back to Bucky and heads for the door. Bucky can hardly believe his eyes.

“Excuse me?”

“Get the hell out of my clinic,” the man says as he flings the door open and steps out into the hallway. He spares Bucky one last contemptuous glance. “There’s a special place in hell for people like you.”

Bucky gapes as the man goes, hardly believing his ears. Suddenly the room feels even colder than it had before, and he’s desperate to get his clothes back on. Hurriedly he stoops to grab his jeans from where he’d put them on a chair, and he shucks them on, then his shirt. Dressed again, he rakes his hands through his hair, feeling overwhelmed. It’s annoying that tears prick at the edges of his eyes, but they do. He’s had enough shit to deal with lately, what with midterms, his boyfriend breaking up with him, and now this pregnancy scare (well, not a _scare_ anymore, as it turns out). He really didn’t need deal with such a nasty person on today of all days. 

“Well fuck you too,” he mutters to the empty room, bitterness burning in his gut. He’s going to go straight to the next city clinic, and the next, and the next until he finds someone to agree to help him. Because no way in fucking hell is he having a baby one semester into undergrad.

.oOo.

Bucky trails his hands over the spines of the books that line Commander Rogers’ library. It’s impressive how many books he owns. “Are these all yours?” he asks.

“Yeah.” Steve is sitting at his desk, distracted by whatever he’s looking at on the screen of his computer. Bucky can’t see.

“Nice.” There must be over a thousand books in the office. Bucky can’t help but be impressed. 

Steve spares him a glance from his desk. He looks vaguely amused. “It’s just a library.”

Bucky doesn’t answer. It’s making him nervous enough just perusing the titles on the books. He feels like he’s thirteen again; like he’s sneaking in his parents’ wine fridge and is going to be caught and grounded any second. Ridiculous really, but he can’t shake it. He doesn’t want to get into an unnecessary discussion on his appreciation for Commander Rogers’ affinity for mystery novels. _This could still be a trick_ , his brain tells him. In another life he’d be embarrassed of this level of suspicion, of paranoia. But he’s been conditioned to be this careful. At this point it’s just survival instinct to resist the twitch of his fingers as they linger over _1984_. 

“You like that one?”

Bucky’s heart leaps to his chest as he jerks his hand away from the book and looks over at Steve. “What?” he licks his lips. “No. I just…” Steve watches him patiently, no judgement in his eyes, and Bucky feels compelled to add, “It was one of the last books I read before…”

He doesn’t have to say it. They both know. Before the government collapsed. Before the regime took over. Before the world went to shit.

Well, Bucky doesn’t yet know if Steve agrees with that last. And he can’t place all of his trust on this man and what he’s said, it isn’t worth what little bodily integrity he has left. Bucky’s got to be careful. “I’ve already read it,” he replies hastily, and moves on down the line of books.

.oOo.

He winds up choosing a science fiction novel that he’s never heard of, by an author he’s never heard of. Something to do with spaceships and far-off planets and nothing real or consequential. It’s a cheap paperback and probably not a very good read, but if he’s going to be caught reading anything, it’ll be least painful if it’s something that has nothing to do with anything. Nothing…subversive. Steve doesn’t seem to care one way or another, though his eyes do seem sympathetic, as if he knows that Bucky would rather have chosen a different book. “You can come at night,” he tells Bucky quietly. “After dinner. I’ll be in here doing business. “You can read until I leave for the night.”

Bucky twists his lips and nods. “Okay.” Then, after a beat, “Thank you.”

Steve smiles a little bit. “You’re welcome.”


	6. Particicution

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter tags/warnings: mild gore, execution

Gunfire pops through the air, loud and discordant. An hour ago it was distant but now the whizzing sounds of bullets have gotten alarmingly close. Bucky’s sitting propped up against the wall of the trailer that he’d found in the woods, gun laid beside him on the floor. He’s wedged the door shut with a chair that’d been at the trailer’s little kitchen table. The trailer was clearly abandoned, leaves and trash littering the plywood floor inside. Whoever’d lived in it had left long ago. Bucky’s head snaps back to the wall as he listens to distant shouts, and he curses. It could be his men or it could be guardians who are approaching. He’s got no way of knowing. 

He’d still be out there fighting with all the others, except for that he’s been shot straight through the leg. And, well… his eyes dart to the back of the trailer where Jenny’s stumbled to and dumped herself on the bed. She’s moaning even louder than before and Bucky feels like a royal fuck for sitting there on the floor, thinking of nothing but his own pain. He grits his teeth and uses the stock of his M4 like a crutch to push himself up from the floor. “Ah!” he shouts because, _fuck_ , does that ever hurt, but he clamps his mouth shut and bites his tongue until he can taste blood. He can’t go screaming and drawing attention to their position. He’s on his feet, leg throbbing terribly. His pants leg is all torn and bloody in the front, where the bullet went in. He’s got no idea what caliber of bullet he’s been shot with, but he’s pretty sure there’s no exit wound. That’s really not good news, but he tries to put it from his mind as he hobbles to the back of the trailer where Jenny is.

She grimaces at him when she sees him. “Sorry!” she hisses. “I know. I know I’m being loud.”

Bucky scoffs. “You’re having a fucking baby.”

“God!” She sobs. “Yeah, yeah I really am aren’t I?”

Bucky smiles at her, heart going out to her. “Hey just try your best to stay quiet okay?” He knows it’s a shitty thing to say to a woman in labor, but Jenny’s not stupid; she knows what’s going on outside just as well as he does. They’re both omega. Neither one of them wants to be taken. Jenny groans as another contraction comes on, and somewhere very near outside a bullet can be heard whizzing by. Shouts get closer. “Shit,” Bucky murmurs. He reaches down and unholsters his sidearm, sliding it on the bed towards Jenny’s hand. “Safety’s on,” he warns. “Ten rounds.” She’s working through the contraction still, trying to stay quiet like she needs to, but Bucky catches the small nod she gives him. “Okay. Good.” He limps back out into the trailer’s main room and positions himself by the window over the kitchen sink. It’s a decent line of sight if the fighting gets close enough, but he can’t do anything about the fact that he’s exposed from the position. Oh well, he thinks. He’ll just have to make sure he shoots the fastest. He’s had great luck as a sniper for the resistance so far. 

The fighting gets louder, gets nearer, and before he knows it Bucky is taking out guardians left and right. At least they wear uniforms. It makes them easy to distinguish from the other fighters, easier to pick off. Bucky gets twenty, maybe twenty-five guardians on the ground before the trailer door bursts open, the chair propped behind it splintering like a bunch of toothpicks. Three guardians burst in and Bucky’s only able to shoot one of them before they wrestle his gun away and punch him square in the face, knocking him out cold.

.oOo.

The water Bucky’s sitting in sloshes gently against the porcelain sides of the tub as he shifts to grab the bar of soap from its ledge by the windowsill. The bathroom window has frosted glass that lets in the morning sunlight but obscures any view. Bucky soaps his shoulders and chest up and rubs the suds around absentmindedly. He’s been finding himself daydreaming a lot lately. Not that it’s an unusual activity for him (daydreaming is one of the very few activities he has to fill his time these days), but he’s been remembering his days with the resistance in particular lately. 

He’d fought with them for almost a year. It’d felt like five. Bucky knows that his mom and sisters are in Canada now, and that thought is one of the few that bring him comfort. He knows they’re safe. He knows that. By some small miracle he’d been able to receive a letter from them a few moths after they’d left for Canada. In it his mother had written that they were being safely and hospitably housed in an elderly man’s townhome in Toronto, and she’d urged Bucky to give up the fighting and come be safe with them.

He hadn’t, of course. He’d been such a rebel then, had had such a hero complex. So of course he’d stayed and fought. It’d gotten him fuck all, of course. But even now, sitting in lukewarm bathwater in Commander Rogers’ house, Bucky can’t bring himself to regret having fought. It’d been the right thing to do. If he hadn’t been captured he’d still be fighting. He knows it. 

He glances down to his body, brings his left leg up out of the sudsy water to thumb at the skin of his thigh. The scar tissue is pale now, almost indistinguishable from the rest of his skin. He runs his fingers over the smooth and bumpy texture of where the bullet had gone in—and where it’d been none-too-professionally dug back out—thinking about that last fight. It’d been too bad, he thinks. He probably could have killed a lot more of the bastards had he had a spot in the trees. But instead he’d been stuffed in that old tin can of a trailer. 

He lets his leg slip back under the water. He never did find out what happened to Jenny or her baby.

.oOo.

“—o’clock today!” Attendance is mandatory for all vessels!”

Bucky’s in the supermarket when the announcement rings through the speakers on the street. He can’t hear it clearly from inside, so he waits for the cashier to ring up his apples and other produce and he pays with the appropriate tokens and goes outside to listen to the announcement.

It’s a particicution they’re announcing, and Bucky’s blood goes cold. Not again.

“Ugh, I wanted to go home and take a nap,” Bucky’s shopping partner complains as he comes to stand next to him, his own basket filled with fish and ham from the deli next door. “Why can’t they just do this on their own?” he bemoans. “What do they really need us for anyway?”

“It’s to keep us afraid,” Bucky mutters. He still isn’t too sure what Ofjohn’s persuasion is. He can’t be too forward with what he says. “Remind us what happens to criminals.”

Ofjohn glances at Bucky’s left sleeve that he’s got pinned up. “Like we could forget.” Bucky thins his lips but doesn’t say anything. It’s true; he _is_ a walking reminder for all the other vessels who see him. Ofjohn sighs. “Well let’s get a move on I guess.” He gestures with his shopping basket. “Gotta get this stuff home before it spoils.”

Bucky follows along, still not sure what to think of his new shopping partner.

.oOo.

That afternoon’s particution is like all the others Bucky’s attended in the past. It takes place on what was once a high school football field. With no more children to fill up all the schools, they have to be used for something. And nobody ever said the faithful weren’t resourceful. Guardians holding the same guns that Bucky used to fight with tell them where to sit, and they all take their places in neat lines in front of the stage that’s been erected for the occasion. The speakers nearby are playing Gilead’s anthem (Bucky’s never learned the words) as if they’re all there to celebrate something, when in fact it’s a far more somber occasion. 

A caretaker ascends the stage, a handful of other caretakers at her back. They all smile down at the assembled vessels like they’re glad to see them there, and hey Bucky thinks, maybe they actually are. It’s hard to figure out how the minds of the faithful work sometimes. “Good afternoon!” The lead caretaker says, speaking into the microphone that’s been placed on the stage. “I’m so glad to see you all here. Blessed day!”

“Blessed day!” they all echo back to her. Even Bucky says it, the response practically rote at this point.

“Good, good.” The caretaker sobers. “Now we all know why we’re here. We all have a duty in this new, blessed society. Sometimes duty is joyous, but sometimes it is also hard. When we’re confronted with sinners among us, we must remember our duty.” She looks behind the stage and nods at someone unseen. A moment later two guardians come into view, a handcuffed man between the them. They haul the man up onto the stage, and Bucky tenses up as he takes in the sight. 

The man looks drained, as if he’s fought and fought hard but now all the fight’s gone out of him. He’s clearly been crying, face all blotchy and tear-stained, but he’s not crying now. In fact he looks downright resigned. Bucky swallows, recognizing the look more than he’d like to admit. He can remember feeling the way this man looks right after they’d pulled the bag off his head and dragged him out of the van and into the red center two years ago. _Defeat_. That’s the look. 

“This man,” the woman up on stage is saying into the microphone, “ _this man_ , has been convicted of the crime of rape.”

All around, the other vessels start murmuring. There’s shifting and stirring in the neat rows that they’ve formed.

“Quiet please! That’s not the worst of it I’m afraid.”

Bucky’s eyes drift fearfully back up to the stage, to the guardians holding the man still. _Oh no_ , he thinks. What are they going to say? What are they going to say he did?

“ _This man_ raped a _vessel_.”

The others in the rows get louder, upset. Bucky is holding stock still.

“The vessel was pregnant.”

Louder.

“The baby died!”

Everyone erupts. All the other vessels in red yelling and crying out in rage. The only thing that keeps them where they sit, Bucky knows, is the multitude of guardians with rifles pointed their way. But they’re all shifting and stirring like caged, furious animals. Directly in front of Bucky there’s a woman and she’s so distressed that she’s pulling viciously at her hair. _God_ , he thinks, wanting reach out and stop her. _Everyone’s gone batty_. His eyes shoot back up to the stage. The handcuffed man is trembling now. Bucky wonders if he knows what’s about to happen to him, but decides that the answer is _probably not_. The man’d be peeing his pants by now if he knew. 

Well, he’ll find out soon enough.

“All right everyone. All of you, up up up, quick and orderly!” the woman chirps down at them. Bucky stands with the rest and goes to form the large circle in the grass that they always do at events like this. The guardians drag the bound man down from the stage and into the center of their circle, then leave him there. Bucky doesn’t look at the man any more. There’s no point. Instead he taps his fingers together in a staccato against his palm, running his old serial number through his mind on a loop: 32557038, 32557…, hoping to be well inside his head by the time they have to start this terrible thing they’re about to do.

“You know the rules of a particicution,” the caretaker says to them. “Once I blow my whistle, what you do is up to you. When I blow the whistle again, everyone stops.”

He keeps tapping, keeps cycling through the numbers: 32557038, 32557038, 32557…

The whistle blows, sharp and shrill, and everyone screams and rushes forward. 

.oOo.

Bucky doesn’t remember walking back from the particicution with Ofjohn. The first thing that registers is the front door, which he stumbles through, feeling dazed and overwhelmed. He pushes it shut weakly behind himself, shutting the house back up into it’s usual dimness. The grandfather clock in the hall is ticking rhythmically, back and forth. Bucky’s fingers twitch where they hang by his side. 

He trails slowly down the hall, head fairly buzzing. He’s got a faint intention of going up to his room, but it’s nascent; only half-formed. He’s just outside of Commander Rogers’ study when the door to the room opens and he steps out. He startles at the sight of Bucky, features quickly melting into a frown. “Bucky? What’s wron—” he breaks off, seeing Bucky’s distressed state—his rumpled clothes, his bloodied hand.

“Bucky what happened?” Steve reaches out and takes Bucky’s shoulders in his hands, staring at him imploringly. “Bucky? Are you hurt?”

“…No,” Bucky breathes. “M’not.”

“Whose blood is this?” Steve asks, voice urgent. Bucky’s eyes flick up to Steve’s face finally, the look of worry and confusion an oddity to him. He starts to giggle; only a little at first, and then a lot. Steve’s frown deepens. “WHAT HAPPENED?”

Bucky giggles some more. When he finally is able to stop he just says, “Particicution.” Then he starts giggling again, and it gets really bad as Steve’s face bleeds into understanding, and then the giggles somehow morph into sobs, until Steve’s pulling him forward against his body and Bucky’s crying into his shoulder, the air leaving him in great, heaving gasps.

“Come on,” Steve says quietly, and pulls Bucky into his office.

.oOo.

“Do you want to talk about it?” Steve asks after they’ve been sitting on the office’s opposing couches for some time. Steve’s got the fire roaring between them, and its warmth replaces some of the body heat Bucky feels he’s lost from the shock of the day. Steve’s also placed a blanket around Bucky’s shoulders, and Bucky grips it tighter about himself as best he can with his one hand. There are still flecks of blood crusted under his fingernails.

“Nothing to say,” Bucky murmurs. “We ripped him apart.”

Steve is quiet for a long moment. It’s obvious he’s trying to think of what to say. “It’s not your fault.”

“I tried to kick him in the face,” Bucky blurts. A quick glance up to Steve shows that he’s shocked by the pronouncement, and Bucky looks back down. “S’what I always do. If you do it hard enough you can knock ‘em out right away. Before—” He sucks in a trembling breath, determined not to start crying again now that he’s finally gotten himself under control. “Before... the rest.”

Steve sighs. “You tried to spare him. Buck that’s good. You tried to do a good thing.”

“Didn’t work this time,” Bucky mutters. “He was screaming for a while.”

Steve doesn’t say anything. He gets up and goes over to the room’s sideboard, uncaps the whiskey and pours from the crystal decanter into one of the matching glasses. He comes back over and sits next to Bucky on his couch. “Here,” he says gently. “If you want.”

Bucky looks over at the glass Steve’s offering him and considers it. Any other time he’d probably be shocked and on-guard, wary that _maybe this is another trick_. But not now. Now he’s exhausted and the burn of whiskey sliding down his throat sounds like an excellent idea. He releases the blanket from his hand and takes the proffered glass, downing a large sip with a grimace and an exhale. “Ugh. Thanks.”

“Sure.” Steve knows as well as Bucky does that vessels aren’t allowed to drink alcohol. But Bucky can tell that, like the books, this is another little infraction that his commander’s going to allow him. Steve sinks back into the couch next to Bucky. “You going to be okay?”

Bucky scoffs quietly. “Gonna have to be, aren’t I?” When Steve doesn’t say anything Bucky just shakes his head. “It’s weird. I used to fight in the resistance, you know?” He shrugs his left shoulder, indicating his missing arm. “S’why I lost this. I killed a lot of people back then. Dozens and dozens. Shot people from hundreds of yards away, watched their skulls explode through my scope.” He shrugs, takes another rueful sip of the whiskey. “So you’d think I’d be used to this stuff by now.”

Steve makes a noise of protest. “It’s not the same, Bucky. What they make you all do at those things…” He shakes his head. “It’s traumatic. There’s no way it couldn’t be.”

“Hm.” Bucky nods. “They taught us some things in the resistance. Some simple techniques. For resisting torture.” He glances over at Steve. “I tried using them today, to sink into my head.” He stares at the whiskey, swirls what’s left around a few times, admires the color and then tilts it back and downs it in a long series of gulps.

“Jesus Bucky.”

He slams the glass down on the coffee table, exhaling harshly and licking his lips. “It didn’t fucking work.”


	7. Shredder

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter tags/Warnings: discussion and depiction of miscarriage. Reference to infanticide.

Bucky rushes to the bathroom when the cramps get too painful, sure that something—he doesn’t know what, just _something_ —bad is going to happen. He pulls down his pants and sits on the toilet, hand pressed against his belly. He’s barely started to swell. It’s only noticeable to him because he was always in such good shape before. Fourteen weeks is finally enough to make him look pregnant, at least when he has his clothes off.

“Ah!” He cries out, trying to stifle the noise as pain flashes through him. He can’t let the Putnams hear, he _can’t_. His insides hurt in a way they’re definitely not supposed to and Bucky feels scared. Even though he’s twenty two years old and it’s ridiculous, he wishes that his mom was here with him. She’d know what to do. As it is, he’s all alone in the Putnams' basement bathroom. He removes his hand from his stomach and reaches back to touch his entrance. When he brings his hand back around, there’s fresh blood covering it. Bucky whimpers. Red. He’s so fucking sick of red.

It takes almost two hours, but eventually Bucky’s body pushes out the baby.

‘Baby’ is a strong word for it. It’s small and bloody—the size of a lemon. And it’s shaped wrong. Bucky catches it in his hand before it can fall into the toilet water. Something about that just seems so wrong. He can’t let it go in there, even if it’s just going to be buried or thrown away in the end. For now it’s his and he’ll treat it the way it deserves.

“Hey,” he whispers tearily to it once the cramping’s gone away and he’s just left cold and messy. He pulls his pants back up and lays down on the cool bathroom tile, using the bathmat as a sort of pillow. In his hand he cups the fetus, mournful in a way he never thought he could be for something he never wanted in the first place. “M’sorry,” he tells it. “I tried.”

He really had. Having a baby—getting pregnant and delivering successfully, is the only way for a criminally-convicted omega like Bucky to avoid being sent away. He’s working on a tighter time schedule than most other vessels, has five years to work with. After eight months with the Putnams he’d been excited to get pregnant, not because he’d _wanted_ to be violated and knocked-up and forced to give away a child, but because it gave him hope that he might be able to avoid the toxic waste of the colonies. If he can’t produce a baby for Gilead within five years, that’s where he’ll go.

Eventually Bucky has to gather the courage to get himself up off the bathroom floor and cleaned up. He unrolls a bunch of toilet paper and lays the fetus on it, not knowing what else to do. Then he runs a bath and gets in, and watches as the water turns pink. 

-

Downstairs, Commander and Mrs. Putnam are having their Sunday morning breakfast. The table’s covered with tureens of sausage and eggs and waffles—more food than the two of them will ever eat. Once they’re done Bucky and the rest of the household will get to split what’s left. Bucky walks into the dining room to the sight of the Commander on his tablet and Mrs. Putnam pouring herself more orange juice. He waits quietly by the door to be noticed.

“Ofwarren,” Mrs. Putnam says when she notices him. “Good morning! Blessed be the fruit.” Her face lights up in a smile, something it’s only done since she found out that Bucky’s pregnant.

Bucky can’t bring himself to speak, nerves twisting his gut into knots. The response gets stuck in his throat. As if he senses this, Commander Warren looks up from his tablet. “Did you want to take some breakfast from the table?” he asks amicably. Ever since Bucky’s pregnancy was discovered, he’s been allowed to eat as much as he wants whenever he wants. No more waiting for proscribed meal times. It’s a privilege that Bucky will miss.

“No,” he nearly whispers. “No thank you. I um, I have something I have to tell you.” God, he’s never been so nervous in his life. What will they do to him?

Both the Putnams are paying attention to him now. They still have pleasant sets to their faces. Not for long. “What is it?” Mrs. Putnam asks.

"... ... … …I lost the baby.”

Complete, absolute silence. Commander Warren sets his tablet down, eyes immediately flicking to his wife. Mrs. Putnam has tightened her fingers around her orange juice glass so hard that Bucky fears it might break. 

“I’m so sorry,” Bucky says hurriedly, because he is. God, he is. He’s scared shitless right now. “I didn’t—”

“Get out of here,” Mrs. Putnam says. She sounds like the air’s been punched out of her. When Bucky doesn’t immediately move, her eyes darken and she smacks the table, rattling the silverware. “Get out!”

Bucky turns immediately and nearly runs to his room.

A Martha comes up to take the fetus away and Bucky never finds out what they do with it. 

.oOo.

Bucky takes to spending the evenings with Steve in his office. It’s nice. As the weather gets colder Steve makes a habit of keeping a fire going in the fireplace, and Bucky pulls one of the couches a little closer to the hearth to read each night. He goes through several science fiction novels before he finally has the courage to take down a book about politics. Old politics from how the world used to be, but still interesting. It’d been written by some liberal pundit, and Bucky finds himself smiling once or twice while he reads. 

Steve looks up from where he’s working at his desk, smiling at Bucky when he notices him. “What’s so funny?” he asks.

Bucky tenses, looks up. “Nothing,” he says. Steve doesn’t look upset at him so after a minute he adds, “Just a joke in here,” he says, indicating his book. He doesn’t mention how the joke’s about fundamentalist Christians. The book had been written back when The Faithful were still worth making fun of. “It’s nothing,” he says again, and averts his eyes back to his reading.

Steve sighs. Bucky hears the desk chair roll out and then Steve is coming over to sit next to him on the couch. He doesn’t get too close, which Bucky is grateful for. Commander Warren would’ve been demanding blow jobs by now. But so far Steve has proven to be about as different from Commander Warren as a man could be. “Bucky,” Steve says. “I wish you wouldn’t be nervous of me.”

Bucky’s eyes flick over. “Sorry.”

“No,” Steve huffs, frustrated. “You don’t need to apologize.”

Bucky looks down, has to cut himself off from immediately saying ‘sorry’ again. Old habits. He sets the book over the arm of the couch, saving his spot. “I’m not used to this,” he admits. “You let me read and you talk to me and you haven’t…”

Steve cants his head. “I haven’t what?”

Bucky shrugs. “You’re just different. I don’t know what to expect with you.”

Steve’s hand comes over and envelops Bucky’s own now that it’s free. His hand is large and warm, and the simple contact makes goosebumps prick to the surface of Bucky’s skin. “You can expect to be treated like a human being,” Steve tells him. “Because that’s what you are.”

Bucky nearly snorts. He’s sure Steve can see the ruefulness in his expression. “M’not used to that either.”

“I’d have hoped you could trust me a little by now.” Steve eyes Bucky’s book meaningfully. “I told you my household is different.”

“Yeah but you never explained what that means,” Bucky says. “Aren’t you…” he shuts up, shocking himself with the question he’d been about to ask.

“Aren’t I what?”

“Aren’t you a True Believer?” Steve gets very still, his expression like stone. “I’m sorry,” Bucky immediately blurts, sure that he’s finally done it; he’s finally said the thing that’s going to get him in serious trouble. “I didn’t mean—”

“I’m not,” Steve says.

Bucky feels his mouth fall open. What Steve’s just said could get him arrested. Could get him put to death and Bucky and all the rest of his servants reassigned to another household. “What?” Bucky says, mouth dry.

“I’m not a True Believer,” Steve repeats. He’s deadly serious, Bucky realizes, and he’s looking at him in a way that says he’s completely aware of the vulnerable position he’s just put himself in by admitting this to Bucky. “I get the feeling you’re not either.”

Bucky doesn’t know what to say. He doesn’t have the courage that Steve does. He can’t make himself say it aloud. “But you’re a Commander,” he says instead. “How did you get to be a Commander if you aren’t a—”

“I worked my way up,” Steve says. “I joined the Sons of Jacob before congress was assassinated.” He shrugs. “I pretended.”

Bucky can hardly believe what he’s hearing. Steve is admitting to treason, and he’s admitting it to Bucky. “…Why?” he asks.

“It was my mission,” Steve tells him. “It still is.”

“Mission?” Bucky repeats dumbly.

Steve nods. “We knew something was in the works. We—myself and a few others—were put in place to infiltrate the Party of The Faithful to assess the threat.”

“‘We’?” Bucky asks. “Who is ‘we’?”

“An organization called Shield,” Steve says. He sits back. “I’m sorry but I can’t tell you any more."

Bucky nearly scoffs. Steve’s told him too much already. “So you’re just… lying in wait?” he asks. He can’t imagine what Steve and just a few other people could possibly achieve. What they could possibly do to overthrow the whole regime. Gilead _is_ the new United States. From what little Bucky’s been able to overhear on Commander Putnam’s and now Steve’s tv, only Alaska and a few western states remain independent. “What about everybody else?” Bucky suddenly asks. “Natasha and Sharon and, and,”

“Sam and Clint?”

“Yeah.”

Steve nods. “Them too.”

Bucky exhales, feeling overwhelmed. “Well shit.”

“Are you going to be okay?” Steve asks him gently. One look at Steve’s face is all it takes for Bucky to realize what he’s really asking; _are you going to keep this to yourself?_

“Yeah,” he says. “Yeah I’m good.” He offers Steve what he hopes is a reassuring smile. “I’m glad.”

Steve’s shoulders relax and he smiles back. “Okay. Good.”

“Good.”

“Good.”

Steve goes back to working at his desk (only now Bucky really has to wonder what ‘work’ is for Steve), and Bucky goes back to reading. Or at least he tries to. The words on the pages all blur together meaninglessly now. All he can think about is that Steve, his new Commander, the man he’s been _renamed_ after, is a spy. Whatever this so-called ‘Shield’ organization is, the fact remains: Steve’s a member of the resistance.

.oOo.

Steve somehow gets a hold of Bucky’s medical records. He brings it up in discussion on another night spent together in the library. “You had a baby?” he asks from his desk where he’s got the file open.

Bucky’s eyes shoot up. “What?”

Steve looks guiltily down to what he’s been reading through. “They gave me your medical records.”

Bucky frowns. “Oh.”

“Sorry, I wasn’t trying to invade your privacy”—Bucky nearly snorts at this—“I just… I’m supposed to schedule a doctor’s appointment for you every three months.”

“Oh, yeah.” Bucky remembers that the Putnams had done that too. It’s how he’d confirmed he was pregnant in the first place. “Um, I miscarried,” he tells Steve.

Steve’s expression softens into something resembling pity. “I’m so sorry Bucky.”

Bucky shrugs from over his book (still the political one). “Wasn’t that far along.” With the fertility crisis being what it is, he’s known a lot of other omegas to miscarry far later-on. Hell, the birthmobile had taken him and all the other vessels in the neighborhood to a celebration the week before, but it hadn’t been a celebration for long. “It’s not like I was attached or anything,” he says. “And it needed to die.”

Steve balks. “What?”

“It was a shredder. You could tell. Things weren’t… growing right.” Bucky averts his eyes back down to his book, hating to remember. If he’d carried to term, it just would’ve been declared an ‘Unbaby’ and been put to death. “It was better that it died,” he says.

Steve doesn’t say anything.

.oOo.


	8. Under His Eye

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter tags/warnings: extreme corporal punishment
> 
> *Electromagnetic Reduction=either complete bullshit or else I don't know

“ _Alexa_ : what’s that Tony Stark quote about Isaac Asimov?” Bucky asks. He listens to the answer as he takes an absent-minded sip of his latte. It’s gotten cold by now but he hardly has the time to go warm it up. Halfway through his paper on the practical applications of electromagnetic reduction in robotics, his fingers are skipping over the keyboard like a maniac. His roommate Dillan is sitting at his desk too, only Bucky’s pretty sure he’s not doing anything so important as coursework. 

“Oh _mygod_.”

Bucky looks over to Dillan. He’s staring at his laptop like the baby Jesus just appeared onscreen. “What?” Bucky asks.

Dillan removes his earbuds. “I just watched a YouTube video of Chris Evans at some press junket, hugging and like, getting his picture taken with a down syndrome lady.”

Bucky rolls his eyes, attention already back on his paper. “Yeah? So what?”

“So?! I want to make babies with this man, is what. Unf. With a capitol Unf.”

Bucky snorts. “You’d better watch your mouth,” he says. “ ‘Alexa’ is listening. And aren’t you a polysci major?”

“Yeah, so?”

“So the nuts on the right would be glad to sign you up for baby-making duty, now wouldn’t they, omega-mine?”

Dillan snorts. “Not with Chris Evans they wouldn’t.” He sighs. “Son of a bitch is taken. Why can’t I meet a nice Alpha like that?”

Bucky rolls his eyes and focuses back on his paper.

.oOo.

The first time Bucky hits heat, he’s just turned thirteen years old. 

He’s in homeroom at 7:15 am, backpack slung across his lap and foot tapping as he eagerly awaits the bell. Harriet Falsworth is in his third period English class and he’s got a not-so-subtle crush on her. He can’t wait to slide his hand-made valentine into her locker. Just thinking of Harriet makes his heart beat faster. Lately, it’s even made other things happen. There’s a reason Bucky’s got the backpack in his lap. If half the kids in his homeroom have put space between him and them, he certainly doesn’t notice. 

“Hey Barnes, what the fuck?”

Bucky turns around in his seat to look back at where George and Seth are. “ _What_?” he hisses, not wanting to get in trouble for talking out of turn in homeroom. Sister Joan is a real hard-ass when it comes to stuff like that. 

“Why’dyou smell like that?” Both boys snicker loudly. “S’it your time of the month or something?”

Bucky crinkles his brow. “Huh?”

“That’s enough.” Sister Joan is at the front of the classroom and her presence is enough to get Georgie and Seth to shut up. Bucky’s still left confused though. “Everyone work on your homework,” Sister Joan snaps. All the students in the room are either quick to pull out their binders or else quick to ignore her, but Sister Joan doesn’t seem to notice. Her attention is on Bucky. She comes over to him. “James,” she says. Bucky’s caught off guard by the kind tone of her voice. Sister Joan is never kind. 

“Um, yeah?” he says.

“You’ll need to come out into the hall with me, dear,” she says. 

Bucky frowns. He glances back to George and Seth again, who are still snickering at him. Bucky can’t help but feel that he’s missed some joke. “Why?” he asks Sister Joan suspiciously. 

Her lips thin sternly. “Because I said so.”

-

Bucky’s forced to leave school early that day. They send him home in a taxi, since his mom and dad are both at work and can’t come to get him. Bucky tries hard not to cry in the backseat of the cab, but it’s a challenge. He’s presented as omega. That’s what Sister Joan, and later, the school nurse, had told him. Apparently they could tell it even before he could. Something about the way he smells.

Bucky has a vague memory of a fifth grade puberty lecture that he hadn’t paid attention to. He can’t get his mind off the way that George and Seth were laughing at him, and it sticks in his mind as the first lesson he ever gets about being an omega: it’s nothing to be proud of.

.oOo.

Base camp for the resistance is a scattered collection of trailers and hastily-constructed shacks in the Appalachian mountains. Bucky knows that they’re somewhere in Pennsylvania, but that’s about all he knows. When he’d first met his contact back in Brooklyn, it’d been very secretive. Nobody had trusted him at that point, and he’d had to be led into camp with a blindfold on.

That’s just fine with Bucky. He knows what he needs to know. Other people shuttle them out on missions when they need to go. Bucky’s quickly made rank as sniper. He’s killed something in the range of fifty or sixty Alphas, and he’s relished every kill. His mom wouldn’t like that if she knew, would tell him it was sinful to be glad about killing people. But she hasn’t seen the things that The Faithful are doing now a days. They’re hanging priests and nuns who won’t convert. They’re kidnapping omegas and doing god only knows what with them. The few omega refugees that the army takes in don’t talk about their experiences out there, and Bucky doesn’t ask. He’s heard rumors though; ridiculous things about sex slaves and breeding centers. He’s got a hard time believing that. It’s a little too outrageous of an idea, even for The Faithful. 

Anyway, Bucky’s mom is tucked away, safe in Toronto. She hasn’t seen the things he has. Bucky likes to think she’d be proud of him if she knew what he was fighting against.

-

Bucky sits on one of the lawn chairs that crowd the medical tent. He and a handful of other omega rebels are waiting their turns to get suppressant injections. Bucky had cycled naturally until he was sixteen, then his mom had taken him to the doctor and he’d gotten set up with the pill and oral suppressants. He likes the way his body feels when he’s on them, and it’s a relief that he’ll be able to stay on them here. He hadn’t expected that luxury. 

“Barnes,” the medic calls out. Bucky get up from his seat and goes over to the guy. “Lemme see your ID tag.” Bucky shows it to him and the man checks something off on his clipboard. “Alright,” he says. “Roll up your sleeve.”

Bucky does so. He watches as the medic preps the syringe. It’s been explained to him that they do injections out here instead of pills because it’s more reliable. Can’t exactly depend on having your pills when you need them when you’re out fighting for weeks on end. And the last thing that’s strategic on the battlefield is an omega in heat. 

Bucky holds out his arm for the doctor to shoot him up.

.oOo. 

Bucky grunts as Brock and the other Guardian pull him out of the back of the van. This is the second damned time he’s been dragged into the red center against his will and it makes Bucky feel like a hell of a failure for getting caught. _At least he doesn’t have a bag over his head this time_ , he thinks. 

“Thought you could run away, huh?” Brock says, sounding smug. He tugs on Bucky’s one arm to get him to follow along. He looks over, notices the blood crusted on Bucky's neck. He reaches up, and even though Bucky flinches away, manages to get his shaggy hair tucked behind his left ear. "Aw, hell kid," he says when he sees the mess. "What the hell did ya do to yourself?"

Bucky just tugs away and scowls. "What I had to." They pass through the outer fence, then the inner checkpoint. Each gate locks behind them with a click and computerized beep, and the sounds are like physical slaps to Bucky. Those are the sounds of his freedom being stripped away, again.

Brock drags him into the shower area where the caretakers usually do intake. He makes Bucky take off all his clothes—Beta blue that he’d stolen from one of said caretakers—and tells him to wash the grime off himself. He’s been living rough in the city while trying to figure out a way to get past the street checkpoints. It’d been okay building up a stink though, Bucky thinks as he turns the shower on hot. It’d done a bit to cover up the smell of his heat at least. The Faithful don’t believe in the use of suppressants, think it’s against God or nature or some such bullshit. So of course Bucky and the other omegas in the red center were never allowed to have them. Being in heat had made Bucky’s escape harder, but not impossible. Bucky gets some soap from the dispenser on the wall and rubs it over his shoulders. He peeks back at Brock.

Brock isn’t averting his eyes. He’s watching Bucky wash himself and he’s smirking. “You really thought you’d make it?” he asks.

Bucky wonders if he’s actually interested or if Brock’s just in the mood to rub his nose in his failure. He shrugs, sluicing the water back off of his hair. “I had to try,” is his answer.

“You never would’ve gotten far,” Brock tells him. “Not with the way you smell.” For a second, Bucky thinks Brock is referring to the stench of temporary homelessness on him, but then he turns in the spray of the shower and sees the undisguised lust in the man’s eyes. _Oh_. Bucky figures the grime hadn’t done such a good job at covering up his heat scent after all.

-

“Please,” Bucky begs, struggling against Brock and the other guardian as they manhandle him into one of the old classrooms. The red center is set up in what was once a school, and this is one room Bucky has never been in before. He’s heard the screams echoing out into the hallway though. “Please,” he begs again. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry!” He’s crying but Brock and the other guardian ignore him.

“God, shut up already and take what’s coming to ya,” Brock says. “I thought you used to be a soldier.” The other guardian snorts.

Bucky might’ve been able to overpower just one of them, _if_ he still had both his arms, but he doesn’t and he’s unable to get away. They get him up on the padded table that the room holds and they restrain him face-down. Straps over his shoulders, arms, waist thighs and calves hold him completely immobile. Bucky’s bare feet hang over the table’s edge. “Please!” Bucky is crying in earnest now. He’s nearly screaming at the caretaker who walks in. His blood runs cold when he sees him. It’s the caretaker whose clothes he’d taken; the one he’d left tied up and gagged in the school’s boiler room. He’s holding a short metal cable in his hand. 

“Under His Eye,” he says to Bucky as he approaches.

“Please,” Bucky begs him, eyes unable to move from the sight of what he’s holding. Bucky knows what that’s for. He’s seen other omegas brought back to their cots, bloody feet bandaged and dragging behind them. “Please don’t do this! I’m sorry. I’m so sorry!”

“Oh,” the caretaker tells him soothingly, “I believe you sweetheart. But you know we all must be punished for our sins.”

“No! Please no!” Bucky glances over to where Brock and the other guardian are standing sentinel by the door. “Please help me,” he says. It’s pathetic even to his own ears, and Brock turns his back to him. The other guardian, however, seems to want to watch, sadist. The caretaker goes behind where Bucky can’t see, and a second later there’s searing, unbearable pain on the soles of his feet. 

Bucky screams bloody murder. 

They drag him back to his bed that night, face snotty from crying and barely coherent. Once the caretakers turn in for the night and only a few remain to do the usual rounds, Bucky gets a slew of apologetic murmurs in the dark from the other vessels. He doesn’t thank them, just cries softly into his pillow. He thinks of his family and of the unending pain in his feet. He misses his mom.

The wounds are fully-healed in six weeks, and Bucky’s left with some pretty unique scars.

.oOo.

Bucky’s sitting cross-legged on the front porch swing, watching Sam work. The beta is unloading pumpkins and pots of brightly colored mums from a truck in the driveway and bringing them over, one by one, to sit on the porch. He’s arranging a nice fall display. Bucky’s barefoot even though it’s cooler outside now. He’s got his red cloak draped over his shoulders and he sits there and strokes absently over the scars on the bottoms of his feet, playing with the texture as he contemplates the ridiculousness of seasonal decorations in this brave new world of theirs. “Sam,” he says eventually, because he knows now that he can talk about pretty much whatever he wants to the household staff— _spies_ , in actuality. It still feels odd to converse freely, but Bucky persists. “Do you think we could carve some of the pumpkins?”

Sam gives him a look. “You know we can’t.” Carving pumpkins has been forbidden, along with all other Halloween-related things, since the regime took over. It’s a pagan ritual that The Faithful scorn. Sam seems sympathetic to Bucky's boredom though. He tilts his head at him, considering. “You want to help me rake leaves this afternoon?”

Bucky’s never been so excited at the prospect of yardwork. He gets off the swing. “I can do it now!” he says, going for the front door. “Let me just get my shoes.”

-

It’s as he’s raking the leaves in the front yard that Bucky sees the black van pull up. Too many bad experiences in the backs of such vans have him freezing in his raking and staring apprehensively. _Could it be guardians?_ he thinks, Come to take him away? Has someone reported him for reading? Has someone reported _Steve_? Bucky gulps.

The van’s doors open and a man gets out. He’s dressed like a guardian and he has slicked-back hair and a scar across his chin. Bucky doesn’t like the serious set to his face. The man walks towards the house and the van pulls away. Well, Bucky thinks, at least there’s that. No van means nobody’s getting black-bagged and hauled away. He still watches the man though. In a second, Steve has opened the front door and is stepping out onto the porch to shake the guy’s hand. He’s speaking with him. Sam appears at Bucky’s side, “That’s Steve’s new head of security,” he tells him seriously. “Rollins. He was assigned. Steve didn’t pick him out.”

“Does that mean I need to be careful of him?” Bucky asks.

“Probably. Definitely keep your mouth shut around him.”

“...Why does Steve need a head of security?”

“Death threats,” Sam tells him. He says it casually, like he’s talking about the weather, and Bucky balks. “We get them all the time,” Sam tell him.

“Who’d be dumb enough to threaten a commander?” he asks.

“They’re almost always tracked to resistance members,” Sam reassures him. “Don’t worry. Steve’s safe from them here.” 

It’s almost laughable, since Bucky now knows that Steve _is_ a member of the resistance. He watches the exchange that’s going on between Steve and Rollins. Steve is putting on a friendly enough face, but something about the set of his shoulders tells Bucky that that’s all it is—a face. Steve is feeling tense while talking to his new head of security, and that makes Bucky feel tense. He wonders if this new guy might be an Eye.

**Aaaaand THIS is Dillan's beloved clip of actor Chris Evans "Like, hugging and getting his picture taken with a Down Syndrome Lady" I want to make babies with this man. UNF, with a capital UNF.** I hear ya Dillan, I hear ya. 


	9. Ceremony Night, part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter tags/warnings: dubious consent due to drunkenness

The constitution is suspended. Each night Bucky and his family watch the state news channel, amazed and horrified by the next piece of news, and the next, and the next, the stories becoming more outrageous by the day. Bucky tries to return to NYU but he’s told that his scholarship has been revoked. Omegas aren’t allowed to attend anymore. Trudy, Becca and Clair don’t go back to their respective schools as a show of solidarity, which Bucky tells them is stupid. Then one night the news tells them that state lawmakers (the newly-appointed ones) are deciding on whether or not to implement biblical law. Under the proposed legislation, omegas will be relegated to the home. They won’t be able to vote, own property, or even to read. Bucky literally spits out the soda he’s drinking when he hears that one.

Bucky, his dad, and his youngest sister Becca all go together to several protests. They shout and jeer along with everyone else at the guardians. The third protest they go to however, erupts into violence, the guardians opening fire on the crowds. George is killed and Becca winds up with a bullet through her shin and Bucky has to drag her into a Starbucks to hide until the chaos dies down. They don’t go to any more protests after that. 

It’s when the government issues the order for all citizens to start wearing insignia marking their designation that Winnie announces they’re leaving for Canada. She spends two months making small withdrawals to drain George’s bank account in as inconspicuous a manner as possible, they sew their mandatory insignia badges onto their coats to show that they’re good, obedient citizens, and then Bucky helps his mother to load up the car with only the most essential items since they’re “going on vacation,” not running away. They can’t pack as if for a permanent move, but Winnie assures them that they’ll be able to buy new things when they get to Toronto. All of their savings is hidden underneath the backseats of the car. 

They drive across the state, passing several checkpoints along the way. The checkpoints are manned by guardians but each time Winnie just calmly explains that they’re going to visit family in Toronto for a week. The guardians aren’t exactly polite, but it’s promising that they’re able to continue unstopped. Bucky gets his hopes up that maybe this plan will work. Maybe they’ll make it out. 

Then they reach Buffalo. The border crossing is backed up with other families, and a lot of cars are being rerouted back the way they came. Winnie just tells them all to remain calm. She snaps at Bucky to stop scenting so scared. As if he can help it. When they get to the front of the line the posted guardian asks for their papers. They hand them over to her. Then she looks into the car and sees Bucky with his omega insignia. Her eyes narrow. “I’m going to need your social security number,” she says. Winnie argues but in the end they give her the number. The woman steps away for a long moment. When she returns, she’s somber. “You can’t proceed,” she tells them. “You folks are going to have to turn around.”

“What?! Why?” Winnie argues.

The guardian points at Bucky. “We have him flagged in our system.”

“What? Flagged? What are you talking about?” Winnie sounds mad. Bucky’s just sitting in the backseat, a cold sort of dread creeping up on him.

“His medical records indicate that he terminated a pregnancy within the last six months.”

“He… what?” 

Bucky blanches. _Oh shit_. He hasn’t told anyone about that. He wonders how the hell they have access to his medical records.

Winnie turns in her seat to look at him, eyes wide. “Bucky?”

Bucky swallows. “I… did. I’m sorry mom. I didn’t know how to tell you.”

“Oh _sweetie_. You could have told me. Your father and I would’ve—”

“Since he’s fertile he can’t cross,” the guardian is telling them. “Fertility is a national resource, and thankfully abortion is illegal now.” She glares at Bucky like he’s something dirty; contemptable. “Now you need to turn the vehicle around. You can do it right up here.”

Winnie gives Bucky one more sympathetic look that winds up making him feel like a piece of shit anyway, and then she turns back around in her seat and sets in to arguing tersely with the guardian about why “this is ridiculous.” Her voice gets louder and louder, and the guardian gets ruder, but the argument fizzles out abruptly once another guardian comes over to see what the problem is and points a rifle in Winnie’s face. They turn around and pull into the nearest rest stop to try and figure out what to do.

“We could go on foot,” Clair suggests. “Drive further down to one of the forested areas and make it over that way.”

Becca and Trudy agree, pointing out that they have backpacks and enough granola bars for a few days. Bucky’s the only one brave enough to point out that there’s no way Becca can make the trek with her recently-shattered tibia. Her damned crutches are shoved awkwardly across the floor in the back; a necessity since she still can’t put weight on the leg. Becca is obstinate though. “Shut up Bucky,” she says. “I can do it. I’ll be fine.”

“Mom, _come on_.” Bucky gives his mother a reasoning look. “She can’t make it on foot. You know that. Crutching for days in the woods? With a neon pink cast?”

“Shut _up_ Bucky!”

“If we need to run? Or hide? We’re screwed. It’s insane mom. You gotta know that.” Winnie doesn’t say anything but the uncomfortable look on her face shows that she knows Bucky is right. Bucky straightens up, firming his resolve. “I’ll stay behind,” he says.

“Bucky, _no_.”

“I can cross on foot later. Or I can try and get ahold of some fake insignia and papers. It’ll take a little longer but in the meantime you and the girls can get to Toronto and get set up.” He tries to offer his mother a brave smile. “That way all the hard work’ll be done by the time I get there.”

Trudy snorts. Winnie gives him a pleading look. “We can all stay,” she says. “Your plan still works if we all stay.”

“Mom please. You know that’s not the right decision. I mean look how bad things have gotten in just the last couple of months. We don’t know how much worse they’re going to get. They could stop letting people over the border all together.” He shakes his head, mind made up. “No. You guys have to go now.”

“Bucky,” Becca says. There’re tears catching at the edges of her eyes. Of all his siblings, Bucky’s the closest to her. “You can’t do this.”

“I can,” he says. “I have to. It’s the only way.”

Becca does start crying then, and Clair and Trudy both try to hold it together while Winnie practically climbs into the backseat to hug Bucky like she’s never going to let him go. “You be careful,” she says into his ear. “You take a bus and don’t talk to anyone. Go back to the apartment for however long you have to but you figure out a way to cross, you hear me?” She sounds stern and Bucky knows she’s only doing it to keep from crying herself.

“I will,” he tells her, squeezing her tightly. “I promise. I love you.”

Winnie gives him several thousand dollars in cash and he stuffs it in the bottom of one of the backpacks. “You rip those things off all your jackets,” Winnie tells him once he’s standing outside the car and she’s got the motor running again. “I’ll send a letter with our new address once we find a place. And you get your papers and find a way to get fake insignia. I don’t care if you have to kill someone for it.”

Bucky smiles at her watery. They both know she doesn’t mean it. “Kay,” he says. He steps back from the car. “I’ll see you guys real soon.”

Winnie looks like it physically pains her to roll up the window, but she does. Bucky stands there and watches them drive away, not knowing if he’ll ever see his family again. He feels more lost and afraid than he ever has in his life.

.oOo.

The next week the news announces that all omegas must have alpha guardians—either a relative or else one appointed by the government. Guardians of the Faith start going door to door to enforce the policy and Bucky has to hightail it out of the apartment when he hears them banging to get into the unit five doors down. With no papers and no insignia, he’s forced to start living on the streets to avoid being detected. It’s not so bad. He just has to make sure to sleep curled around his backpack to ensure that nobody gets their hands on the several thousand dollars that’s in it. 

It seems impossible to find a way to get fake papers that say he’s someone else. As the weather gets colder and he’s still sleeping under a bridge and has only one dose of suppressants left, Bucky begins to lose hope. Then one night everything changes. He tries to steal some passed-out junkie’s beta insignia and he gets caught by another homeless guy. The guy introduces himself as Peter, and he’s a member of something called “the resistance.”

.oOo.

Bucky wakes up one morning, and he’s only awake for a few seconds before he squeezes his eyes shut and groans. “Shit,” he hisses. He’s hot. Too hot. His skin itches, and underneath his body the sheets are slick. He’s in heat.

He gets washed up and dresses. He doesn’t want to leave his room because he knows that as soon as he does he’ll be found out. Steve will smell him, or even worse, _Rollins_ will smell him. The new head of security has been lurking around the house for the past two weeks like some spook. There’s definitely something sinister about him. He’s always staring, always keeping tabs on everyone in the house as if he doesn’t trust them, and he doesn’t even speak to Bucky. Bucky’s pretty sure that Rollins is an Eye, and under his scrutiny, Bucky’s nights in the library with Steve have all but come to an end. 

He lingers in his room for hours longer than he usually would, but eventually Bucky’s stomach starts to grumble. He’d skipped breakfast and now he’s paying the price. Sighing, he decides that he’ll go down to the kitchen, grab some fruit or something, and come right back up to his room. He goes downstairs, trying his best to be silent. Sharon’s in the kitchen when he gets there and he offers her a weak smile. “Just came to get a snack.”

She frowns heavily at him. “Great,” she huffs, flinging her dish towel aside. “Guess I’ll have to do the shopping today then.”

“What?” Bucky asks.

Sharon gives him a knowing look. “You reek,” she says.

Bucky blushes. “Oh.” He doesn’t know if he _actually_ smells bad to her. He’s never known what heat scent smells like to betas. “Sorry I can’t do the shopping,” he says mildly. Sharon just grunts and leaves the kitchen, and Bucky’s left on his own to look in the fridge for something he can take back to his room.

He winds up grabbing some celery and the jar of peanut butter and hurrying with them to the stairs, but Rollins intercepts him before he can sneak back to his room. “Ofsteven,” he says, nostrils flaring as he sizes Bucky up. 

Bucky clutches the peanut butter tighter. “What?”

“Does the commander know?”

Bucky grimaces. “No,” he says reluctantly. “I haven’t seen him today.”

Rollins nods sharply. “I’ll tell him. Ceremonies are at eight o’clock.”

Bucky doesn’t say anything, but he does make a peevish face once Rollins has turned his back to him. _God_ , ‘ceremonies’. They’re the dumbest fucking things. The whole household getting together to read some weird-ass passages from the bible, just so that they can justify what happens next. Bucky continues on up to his room, mood soured. He’d known it was coming of course. And if he’d tracked himself better he probably wouldn’t have been so surprised at waking up that morning to aching and shivers and slick. He’s been forced to cycle naturally for over two years now, ever since he was captured from the resistance and they red-tagged him. Monthly heats had sucked at the red center, but they’d sucked worse once he’d been placed with the Putnams. Getting raped by Commander Warren for all those months is something Bucky really wishes he could forget.

.oOo.

Dinner that night is an awkward affair. Bucky sits at the table with all the rest of the household staff, but for the first time Steve is absent for the entire meal. Bucky doesn’t know what to make of that. He wonders if Steve is just embarrassed. They’ve gotten close this past month, after all. Steve’s been kind to him and allowed him more freedom than Bucky’s had in years. He couldn’t help but to come to like the guy. And Steve well, Bucky is pretty sure Steve likes him too. 

Around the table, everybody pretty much ignores Bucky. They don’t look at him, and where Natasha or Sam would normally try and make conversation with him, tonight they’re silent. Everyone knows he’s in heat, knows what’s going to happen in only a few short hours. It’s incredibly awkward and Bucky just forces himself to keep his eyes down and try to eat his meal that he has no appetite for.

.oOo.

They all gather in the parlor for the ceremony. Rollins posts himself by the door and watches as Steve gets the bible out and reads off the prescribed passages. He avoids looking at Bucky where he sits on the floor, and Bucky doesn’t know whether to feel better or worse because of that. When it’s all over the household staff all leave. Rollins lingers for a second longer, but then he leaves too. Then it’s just Steve and Bucky in the room.

Finally, Steve looks at Bucky. He turns around and puts the bible back in its place and then turns back. He holds out his hand for Bucky to take. “C’mere,” he says quietly. 

Bucky gulps, but he does reach up and take Steve’s hand, lets him pull him up. He’s acutely aware of his heat symptoms now. They’ve gotten worse throughout the day and now he’s fairly aching between his legs. There’s probably a wet spot on the back of his pants, so thank goodness the shirt is long enough to cover there. Standing right by Steve now, Bucky hardly knows what to say. He eyes him warily, memories of ceremony nights from the past plaguing his mind. “What now?” he asks. His voice is even quieter than Steve’s had been. Bucky hates how damned vulnerable he sounds, but the sad fact is that he _is_ vulnerable. He’s a one-armed vessel in heat, in a commander’s house, in Gilead. He’s about as vulnerable as it gets these days. Steve is looking at Bucky kindly. Or at least, that’s what it looks like to Bucky. He can smell him, can smell the kind intentions and sexual desire on him. It makes Bucky want to run away. “What now?” he repeats.

Steve reaches out and puts a hand on Bucky’s left shoulder. “You know what, Buck.” Again, Bucky gulps. Steve looks at him sympathetically. “Come up to my room when you’re ready, okay?” 

Bucky’s mouth feels dry. He manages a nod. “Okay,” he croaks. Steve leaves the room, and then Bucky’s left alone to wonder how much time he can waste downstairs before he has to go up to Steve. At least he's been given time, he thinks. Steve’s gone upstairs and left him alone. Commander Warren never did that. After a few moments of silently fretting over what to do, Bucky gets a brilliant idea. He goes to the parlor doors to peek out into the hall and see if anybody’s out there. No one is, not even Rollins. Bucky grits his teeth and hurries down the hallway as silently as possible. He makes his way to the library, heart beating faster for each second he’s out in the open. He tries the handle to the door and by some miracle it turns, unlocked. And the room is empty. Bucky grins triumphantly. He shuts the door behind himself and locks it. Nobody needs to know that he’s in here, or what he’s doing.

He immediately goes over to the room’s sideboard and grabs the decanter of whiskey and one of the tumblers. He sits on one of the couches and starts right in on drinking as much as he can as fast as he can. Whiskey was never his liquor of choice, so it’s slower-going than he’d otherwise prefer, but he’s got no intention of making himself vomit it all up. That’d defeat the purpose. 

So he sits there on the couch, sipping whiskey faster than necessary but not fast enough and watching the clock tick and tick, the time going from eight thirty to eight forty five, to nine o’clock and then nine fifteen. Bucky looks down at the decanter to gauge how much he’s drank and is taken aback by the amount. He feels the alcohol coursing through his system by now, and it’s doing its job in his opinion. He feels hazy, buzzed and happy. The vague idea of sleeping with Steve seems less intimidating now and a thousand times less awkward. Plus, he’s completely aroused, and that’s starting to take precedence. There’s slick between his legs, cold and uncomfortable, and he’s hot as Hades and aching in a way that he knows only sex can fix. Bucky sighs, takes one last, big swig of his drink. He can do this, he thinks. He can definitely get through this. It’s not like Steve’s bad looking. Hell, maybe he’ll even be nice in bed. Bucky stands up with the decanter in hand and wobbles a bit, which makes him giggle. “Oops,” he whispers to no one. “Gotta be careful,” he tells the bottle. He puts the bottle and then the glass back where he got them from and turns for the door. Better hurry upstairs and get this show on the road, he thinks. Do it before the buzz wears off. 

.oOo.

Bucky steps into Steve’s room and closes the door behind him. It bangs a little from the force and he turns around to face Steve with a wince. “Sorry!” he hisses. “I didn’t mean to do that.”

Steve is sitting on the edge of his bed. He’s changed into night clothes. His bare feet are resting on the carpet and Bucky stares at them, realizes he’s never seen Steve in anything other than a suit. Steve is looking at him apprehensively. “I was afraid you wouldn’t come up,” he says. “Rollins is hiding down the hall watching I think. To make sure you did.”

Bucky gulps. “Well,” he says, then he holds out his hands in jest, gives a wide, sarcastic grin. “Here I am.” Steve snorts. He looks down at where he’s got his hands clasped in his lap. He almost looks nervous, but the idea is laughable. “Is something wrong?” Bucky asks.

“I had another vessel posted here before you. Did you know?”

Bucky blinks, mind slow due to the alcohol that’s coursing through his system. “Yeah,” he says. “Sharon mentioned it.”

Steve nods. He’s still looking down shyly at his lap. “It was a female omega. She was really young.”

“…How young?” Bucky takes a few steps closer to the bed, to Steve. He wants to smell him.

“Seventeen,” Steve nearly whispers. He shakes his head, looking sad. “I offered to leave her alone, on nights like tonight.”

“Ceremony nights,” Bucky says.

“Yeah. Ceremony nights. But she was a True Believer. She got angry with me, threatened to report me for not ‘doing my duty’.” Steve scoffs. “So I had sex with her. Every month for half a year.”

Bucky goes and sits on the bed next to Steve. He takes Steve’s hand in his, shocking himself and making Steve looked taken-aback as well. “What happened to her then?” he asks.

Steve sighs. “She got pregnant. Decided that she wanted to go back to the Red Center and have the baby there.”

“Oh.”

“I never told her what I was but I think she kind of knew anyway. She could tell I wasn’t devout.” Steve shrugs. “So she left. And you know what? I was relieved.”

Bucky leans his head against Steve’s shoulder, rubs his thumb over the back of Steve’s hand. “Mmm,” he hums, “That’s a sad story.” He reaches up and turns Steve’s head towards him, then leans in to try and kiss him. But Steve pulls back.

“Bucky, you smell like…” he leans in closer, gets a whiff of Bucky’s breath. “Whiskey. How much have you had to drink?” he asks, sounding concerned. His tone makes Bucky giggle.

“Just a little,” he lies. “M’fine. Want to kiss you.” He leans in again as if to do it, but Steve holds him back.

“Bucky you’re drunk.”

Bucky makes a ‘pfft’ sound through his teeth. “So what?” he says. “Doesn’t make a difference. Still gonna fuck me.”

Steve looks upset. “You can’t consent like this. And even if you could, I was going to offer to leave you alone.”

Bucky blinks at him, confused. “What?”

“Nobody would know,” Steve says. He looks seriously at Bucky. “We don’t have to do anything, alright? You can just lie down and go to sleep.”

Bucky squirms, uncomfortable and unhappy with what Steve’s said, though he can’t figure out why. “But…” he hedges, rubbing his thighs together in discomfort, feeling the slick there—and then he remembers. He’s horny as fuck. He looks back up at Steve. “I want to,” he insists. He reaches out with his one hand, places it high up on Steve’s thigh and squeezes.

“Bucky, don’t.”

“I want to,” Bucky repeats. “Please. I’m barely drunk, I’m… I _ache_ , and I haven’t…” he hesitates, embarrassed. “I haven’t been touched in forever,” he finishes softly. He looks at Steve imploringly. “Can we please? I promise I won’t hate you.”

Steve looks conflicted but like he might give in, so Bucky lets his hand side over the crotch of his pajama pants, and he rubs. Steve moans. “Bucky, I—”

Bucky surges in to kiss him before he can finish whatever he’d been about to say. Steve is stiff for a brief moment, but then he’s melting into it and huffing into Bucky’s mouth and reaching to hold him at the waist. Bucky purrs at the touch. “That’s it,” he says, eyes already closed as he tips his head so that Steve can nose at his swollen scent glands. “We can feel good. We’re still allowed to have that much at least.” Steve makes some noise of agreement and takes Bucky fully into his arms, turns him and lays him down on the bed, on his back. Bucky sighs and pushes his face into Steve’s pillow, trying to get more of his scent from the slept-in linens. “Steve,” he breathes, eyes still closed but knowing that Steve isn’t laying on top of him when by now he definitely should be. “C’mere,” he purrs, writhing enticingly. 

“One sec Buck,” Steve is saying, and Bucky peeks his eyes open to see that he’s left the bed and is digging through the nightstand’s drawer. 

“What…?” he asks.

“Getting a condom,” Steve says. He finds one and comes back to the bed with it in hand, climbing over Bucky to give him a peck on the lips. “You tell me to stop any time you want, okay?” he says. “We don’t have to do anything you don't want to.”

“Steve,” Bucky says, eyes fixed on the condom in its wrapper. “I… don’t want you to use a condom.”

Steve’s eyes widen. “What? What are you talking about? Bucky you’re in heat. You could… I mean there’s a high likelihood that you could get pregnant.” He stares at Bucky, then huffs, looking put-out. “I knew this was a bad idea. You’re drunk, you don’t even realize what you’re—”

“I know exactly what I’m saying,” Bucky interrupts. He’s blushing but he pushes on, telling him, “I need to get pregnant Steve. I’ve got three and a half years left to have a baby, that’s it. If I don’t they’re gonna send me to the colonies.”

Steve’s expression crumbles. “Oh, Bucky. No.”

“Yes. It’s true and you know it,” Bucky insists. “You can’t stop it from happening. They’ll take me from you and I’ll die in some field in the Dakotas, shoveling topsoil and watching my skin slough off in bits.”

Steve makes a disgusted face but he doesn’t argue with Bucky any further. He just gets somber and nods. “Fine,” he says. He places the condom aside on the bed. “If it’s what you want.”

Bucky nods, even though he’s not really sure what he wants anymore. He wants to live, he knows that much. And he wants to feel better from this heat. Steve can help him do that. He can even give him a baby and save him. Bucky just has to be brave. “Here,” he says, reaching up for Steve. “C’mere.”

Steve sighs, but he listens. He sinks down on top of Bucky and noses at his hair, his neck. “You smell good,” he says, sounding almost reluctant in admitting it. “Could smell you all damn day.”

Bucky groans. “Is that why you skipped lunch and dinner?”

“Yeah,” Steve says. He’s got his arms on either side of Bucky, caging him in. “I couldn’t face you. Ceremony nights make me feel like such a fucking rapist.”

Bucky frowns, has to bite back the response that immediately comes to mind—that ceremony nights _are_ rape. He doesn’t say it thank goodness. From what Steve’s just told him it sounds like he’s never done it that way. He’s not like Commander Warren, Bucky reminds himself. What they’re about to do is different, consensual. Bucky’s going to make damned sure it’s consensual because he’s going to ask for it. It’s not rape if you ask for it.

And besides, he really is aching.

.oOo.


	10. Ceremony Night, part 2

Steve’s above him, large and handsome. There’s still some pinch of sadness in his features but Bucky tries to ignore it. The strong scent of Alpha arousal coming off him helps. Whatever other reasons have the two of them laying here like this, Bucky at least knows that Steve’s attraction is real. Bucky’s in heat and it’s obviously doing it for Steve. After all, it’s not as though Bucky’s touched him in any way to really cause an erection, and yet Steve’s hard against Bucky’s leg; he can feel it. The hot weight of him there feels nice, reminds Bucky of when he used to have sex back in college— _real_ sex, not cold, barely-touching sex with a man’s wife holding Bucky’s arm down. 

Bucky shakes his head once, forcing the memory away. “Kiss me,” he says, wanting to do more, to erase the space that’s still between them. The sooner they can erase that space, the sooner Bucky can forget about everything, can feel better from the ache inside of himself. All the better that it’s Steve he has above him, he figures. Steve will do what he says. He hopes. “Come on,” he urges quietly, letting his hand go up Steve’s back to ruck up the silky material of his sleep shirt. “Please. I’ve been hurting all day.” 

Steve groans and lowers down further, pressing his chest against Bucky’s more solidly. It feels nice, feels better when Steve puts his lips against his and kisses him. Bucky groans at the feeling of the slight contact of Steve’s gentle kiss, of his lips sliding carefully against Bucky’s own. It’s just a little thing, but it matters. He hasn’t had this in over four years, not really. The last time he’d been kissed when he’d actually wanted it was just before his boyfriend had broken up with him in college. That feels like an age ago, and Bucky cards his fingers through Steve’s short hair with a sound of appreciation. “Mmm.” 

Steve pulls back as if he needs to check on him. “Is this okay?”

“Yeah.” Bucky looks up at him. “Think it’d be better with our clothes off though, don’t you?”

Steve’s eyes get a little darker. “Yeah, okay.” He pushes away, sits up and pulls his shirt off quickly. Once he’s got it off he chucks it over the side of the bed.

Bucky watches with a sense of fascination. Steve’s body isn’t a surprise, not entirely. Bucky’s felt his body underneath his clothes before, when Steve had comforted him after the shock of the particicution. He’d known Steve was in shape, large, had strength to him… But this is better than Bucky has been imagining when he jerks off in his little room on the third floor. Steve is just, _perfect_. Bucky lets his eyes rove over him hungrily. He’s all golden skin and plush muscles and, _god_ , he has the sweetest nipples, has the perfect amount of chest hair. Alphas in porn didn’t used to look this good, and Bucky swallows. “Help me off with mine?” he suggests weakly.

Steve smiles, leans down and pulls Bucky up to sitting and pulls his shirt over his head. Once Bucky’s bared to Steve he feels a wave of self-consciousness come over him. He’s not the man he used to be. His body is smaller and softer than it was when he was with the resistance. Back then he’d looked more like Steve—hard and strong. Two years of no purpose have robbed him of a lot of his musculature. And of course he’s got no left arm. All that’s left from the amputation is a nub at his shoulder, all puckered and tucked-in flesh. They hadn’t let him keep much of his arm at all past the shoulder and that’s still not something he’s fully come to terms with. Commander Warren had always wanted him to keep covered up for the act. Now, shirtless for the first time in front of Steve, Bucky tries to tuck that side of himself closer to the bed, out of sight.

“Hey,” Steve says gently, pushing him back down evenly by both shoulders to lie down again. “Don’t hide. You’re beautiful Bucky.”

Bucky blushes. He wants to tell Steve to shut the fuck up and not bother lying to him, but he holds his tongue. Instead he says, “Pants?”

Steve nods, moves to pull Bucky’s pants off of him and shuck them to the floor. He doesn’t say anything about the fact that they’re pretty much soaked in slick at the back, and Bucky is grateful. Then Steve takes his own pants off, and he’s completely naked. Bucky gets a second to see him; see his erection and how big it is, before Steve is laying himself back on top of him. Then it’s just their naked bodies pressed together and all Bucky can focus on is touch. “Oh,” he breathes, eyes clenching shut at the wave of arousal that pulls through him. He’s got a hot, heavy alpha above him, weighing him into the bed and erect against his hip. Bucky’s hips jerk up without his permission. He feels a wave of slick rush out of him. “Steve.”

“Shh,” Steve says gently from above. Bucky opens his eyes to see him. His face is still just as handsome, still just as kind, but now it’s also lust-blown. Steve’s nostrils are flaring every few seconds, taking him in. “You okay?” he asks.

“Yeah,” Bucky says. “Yeah m’good.” He tilts his hips up so that Steve can settle better between his spread legs. The feeling of him there is just right. He’s firm and real and he only wants to do this _with_ Bucky, not _to_ him. The thought astounds and arouses Bucky at the same time. _God_ , he thinks. They’re going to have sex. _Actual_ sex. It’s felt forbidden for so long now. For vessels like Bucky it _has_ been. He breathes shakily up at Steve. “I haven’t done this in forever.”

Steve’s lips thin. “Since your last posting?”

Oh, no. Bucky’s shaking his head immediately. “No. No. I mean…” He puts his one hand on the small of Steve’s back, scraping his fingernails against the warm skin, emphasizing the closeness between them, the intimacy. “ _This_ ,” he repeats meaningfully. “Haven’t had this in so long.”

Steve’s features melt into understanding. He looks happy and sad at the same time. It makes Bucky feel confused, makes his guts do strange things. “Oh,” Steve says. “I see.” He leans down and kisses him tenderly, confesses, “I haven’t either. Not since before.”

Again, it’s one of those instances where both of them know what _‘before’_ means, and Bucky is _not_ in the mood to keep talking about it. “Will you fuck me?” he asks. It’s incredibly ineloquent, but he blames that on the heat and the fact that he’s pretty drunk as well.

Steve dips down and kisses him again, only this time it’s firmer—less an affection than a statement. “Yeah Bucky,” he says when he’s pulled just barely away. “I’ll make you feel good.”

Bucky purrs when Steve starts moving his hips. He rolls down against his stomach in small, languid movements, their cocks rubbing together. It’s pretty to look at but not nearly what Bucky would prefer. He grits his teeth at the teasing pleasure of it, realizes that he’s so out of practice at demanding what he wants that it comes nearly naturally to quash any complaints or requests. He just lies there and groans as Steve ruts against him. His alpha cock is big and the knot at the base still loose. Bucky’s omega cock is small in comparison. He tries to enjoy the show of them rubbing together, because it _is_ pretty, but eventually he whines, frustration winning out. “Steve,” he says, light and breathy. “Steve I’m so wet. I’m ready.”

Steve growls low in his chest. Bucky can feel his fingers dig into the skin of his right arm, and on the other side, into the remnants of his left. “Yeah?” Steve asks, sounding like he’s fighting to hold onto the last of his control. “You sure?”

Bucky would roll his eyes if he wasn’t so desperate. Instead his face pinches in want. “Yes. Steve. Please. Please fuck me.” Steve doesn’t say anything but he does grunt an assent. One of his hands slips between them and Bucky feels tentative fingers touch his rim a moment later. He hisses at the feeling.

“Bucky?”

“I’m good,” he grits out. “You don’t have to do that.”

“Don’t you like foreplay?” Steve asks and Bucky grunts in frustration. 

“During heat? Hell no.” He can’t think of a bigger waste of time. He reaches down and yanks Steve’s hand back up, then cants his hips and rubs his slicked bottom against Steve’s cock. The sound that Steve looses at that is glorious. “Just put it in,” Bucky begs. He’s desperate to be fucked, to feel full, filled-up, to feel a knot. “Come on Steve,” he husks, rubbing some more. “Don’t you want to get in me?”

“Bucky… I, yes. _God_.”

Bucky continues on, so close to getting what he wants that it hurts. He knows what to say. “Come on then. Alpha, _breed_ me.”

Steve’s eyes go _feral_. Bucky’s never seen him look less like himself. It’s intoxicating. His fingers slide through Bucky’s hair, holding him fast with one hand while the other guides his cock to Bucky’s entrance. He rubs it in the crevice of his cheeks, coating himself in Bucky’s slick. Bucky moans when he feels Steve’s blunt cockhead pressing against his hole. He tilts his hips and parts his legs even farther, encouraging him. “Yesss,” he hisses, eyes squeezing shut when he’s finally breached. “Oh, _fuck_.”

“Ugh, ah!” 

“Yeah. Oh, Steve, yes. Fuck that’s good.” Steve sinks into him, Bucky’s body parting for him easily. He’s so wet, so relaxed and ready for this. When Steve’s all the way in and his hips are holding still against him, Bucky leans up and drags a wet kiss across Steve’s trembling lips. “Feel good?”

Steve huffs, overwhelmed. On Bucky’s hip and in his hair, Steve’s fingers tighten. “Yeah,” he breathes. “God yeah.”

Bucky hums, tips his head to the side in a clear invitation for Steve to scent him. He does, growling possessively and almost immediately dipping down to nose and lick against Bucky’s scent gland. It brings forth a moan from somewhere in Bucky’s chest, his body leaking more slick at the sensation of an alpha working him over like this. Bucky presses his own face into Steve’s neck, trying to drown himself in the smell of him. Steve’s scent is spicy—all copper and burnt wood. He smells strong; virile. And inside Bucky’s body he feels that way too. Bucky gives a needy whimper and thrusts his hips up, trying to get Steve to move within him. “ _Steve_ ,” he urges, scraping his nails over the edge of Steve’s shoulder blade. “Need you to move. Fucking _move!_ ” That does it. Steve’s hips snap back and then he’s thrusting harshly against him, jarring their bodies up the bed. Steve’s hands move to hold Bucky down by his wrist, by his neck. Bucky moans filthily at the display of dominance. “Yeah,” he says. “Oh, please.” Steve sets in to fucking him, his hips rolling down quick and smooth. The feeling of being taken so perfectly makes Bucky keen and cry out, his eyes clenching shut at the rightness of it. “Yesss,” he hisses as he fucks back up against Steve. “Yes yes yes!”

Steve shushes him with his mouth, sealing their lips together and fucking his tongue into Bucky the same way he’s fucking him with his cock. They become just noises then, grunts and huffs and cries passed between them in the harsh, hot exhales of their breath. It goes on like this, Steve holding Bucky down and fucking him and Bucky falling apart for how good it feels, until Bucky can feel Steve’s knot growing a little, tugging at his rim a little more with each thrust. Steve’s grip leaves his neck and the next thing Bucky knows the alpha is guiding his one hand down to rest on his neglected erection. “Touch yourself,” he says quietly, eyes hot.

Bucky feels lust flood through him at the command, but he manages to shake his head and slide his hand back onto Steve’s sweaty body instead. “No,” he grunts. “Want to come like this. It’s better like that.” During heat, Bucky’s orgasms are always stronger when he lets himself focus entirely on coming on a knot. Steeling himself, he pulls up the bed from Steve, forcing his cock out of his body. It’s a miserable loss, but Bucky is quick to flip himself over and get his ass up in the air for Steve, presenting. Behind, he can hear Steve’s breath give a violent shudder, his scent soaring at the sight of Bucky presenting. “Oh, Buck.”

“Want it like this,” Bucky grits out, hips already working back on empty air. It’s how The Faithful say vessels like Bucky should be fucked, but that’s not why he’s doing it. It’ll be easier this way, he knows, will be more satisfying to let himself be tied in the traditional position. “Give me your knot,” he says shakily, pressing his cheek into the bedsheets. “I need it.”

Steve growls and surges down. His hands grab Bucky’s hips and he wastes no time in getting his cock back inside of him. He presses up against Bucky, curls over him and ruts into him furiously. He’s half-blown and he forces himself past Bucky’s rim with a pop. Both of them groan loudly at the feeling, and Steve hugs Bucky’s body tightly back against him, hand on his belly to hold him still. He makes soothing noises when Bucky jerks and wiggles for more thrusts. “Shh,” he says, nipping lightly at Bucky’s bonding gland. “Hold still baby.”

Bucky whines. “Move! I want to feel it!”

“Shh. No Bucky. It’s too big. Gotta let it grow inside now. Be still.”

Bucky groans and huffs, not happy with that but unwilling to disobey the alpha who’s got him pinned down with teeth at his throat. Steve holds him tightly against his body and Bucky’s eyes widen as he feels the knot start to swell quickly. “Oh!” he gasps in surprise, and then pleasure. Steve’s knot is… _huge_. “Fuck,” he whimpers, the pressure inside his body growing immensely. “Oh, oh.”

“I know. Shh, it’s okay. I know.”

“Steve,” Bucky slurs, tossing his head on the blankets. He pants and rubs his hips back against the tie. “Oh, _God_. S’good.” Once Steve’s knot is fully-blown he starts moving again, humping down into Bucky with terse growls and frantic thrusts. Bucky sobs at how perfect it feels. Steve’s knot is huge. It presses and rubs against his glands and prostate with each thrust, and it doesn’t take long before he’s keening and coming hotly against the sheets. “Oh, Steve!”

Steve makes no indication that he knows Bucky’s just come. He simply grabs Bucky’s hips and licks his neck and fucks into him faster and faster, until his knot is just one long, pleasurable tug against his insides and his hips start shuddering in orgasm. He moans brokenly, the loud sound of it only partly muffed by Bucky’s skin. His teeth scrape across the skin over Bucky's bonding gland harder than before and the pain makes Bucky whine as he feels Steve start to come, the knot pulsing inside of him.

It goes on for a looong time. Steve is plastered tightly to him as he fills Bucky with wave after wave of semen. He’s reduced to exhausted, pleasure-wracked grunts and groans as he fucks his knot inside of him. Bucky just makes pleasure-pained noises at the feeling of it. Steve wasn’t trying to flatter himself; his knot _is_ big. Bigger than commander Warren’s had been. It’s overwhelming inside of him, but it feels damned good and Bucky feels impressed when Steve keeps coming for what seems like an age. “Guh,” he groans at the sensation of being so thoroughly-filled. He slumps down into the covers, eyes closing in satisfaction and exhaustion. He falls asleep with Steve still tied to him.

-

When he wakes he realizes that he’s being carried. Bucky can hear the sound of running water and the next thing he knows he’s being submersed; the hot, soothing water in Steve’s bathtub enveloping him. He relaxes back into it with a groan. The water sloshes gently against the sides of the tub. When Bucky leans back he’s met with the firm expanse of Steve’s chest against his back. He groans softly. “Oh,” he says. “Hey.”

Steve chuckles, one hand coming round to smooth over his belly. “Hey,” he murmurs into Bucky’s skin. 

Bucky tips his head indulgently to the side so that Steve can have easier access to kiss his glands. He does and the feeling makes Bucky groan indulgently. Beneath the water, his asshole contracts weakly. “Fuck,” he breathes. “Didn’t realize how much I wanted that.”

“Yeah?” Steve asks, fingers tracing lazy circles over Bucky’s skin. He kisses Bucky when the omega groans his assent, then he picks up the soap and rolls the bar around in his hand, creating a lather. He washes him with it, rubbing the suds over Bucky’s shoulders and pecs, letting his fingers linger on the sensitive nubs of his nipples, on the scarred skin of his amputation site. Bucky squirms weakly in discomfort but doesn’t stop him from the lingering touches. 

Long moments of silence pass between them, the only sounds that of Steve’s skin moving against his and the water lapping against the sides of the tub. Bucky stares ahead of himself. Body heavy and eyes half-lidded, he eventually murmurs, “Thank you.”

“…For what?”

“For being gentle with me,” Bucky says quietly. “For giving me a choice.”

Steve’s body gets stiff behind him, and then he’s hugging him back against his chest, insistent and sad. His knees bend in the water, legs cradling Bucky’s own. “You should always have a choice Bucky,” he says.

“Hmm. Yeah.” Bucky lets his head loll back against Steve’s shoulder, wiggling to try and enjoy the warm slosh of the water and ignore any negative thoughts that come to mind. “I know that,” he says. “I just haven’t been allowed to choose what happens to my body in so long.”

“I’m so sorry Bucky,” Steve says into the skin of his shoulder. “Your first posting?”

Bucky murmurs some noise of assent. “Yeah. He was… my commander that is, well he was… like I thought you’d be. He went by the book.”

Steve sighs against him. He seems to be thinking for a long moment and then he asks, “Had you… I mean before Gilead had you had any… consensual experiences?”

Bucky frowns. “You’re asking me if I was a virgin?”

The water sloshes against the sides of the tub as Steve shifts himself in embarrassment. “I mean you don't have to tell me. I don’t care if you were I just… I just wanted to know if anyone had ever been nice to you. If you’d ever had it the way it’s supposed to be.” He gets quiet then, places his forehead against the back of Bucky’s hair. “You deserve that,” he says quietly, almost shyly. “So I wanted to know.”

Bucky bites his lip. He doesn’t know what to say. Steve’s concern and care for him makes him feel light-hearted. It’s almost a surreal feeling, to know that the alpha behind him genuinely wants what’s good for him, not just to fuck him to get off or to make a baby. Steve actually cares about what _Bucky’s_ feeling. Bucky is touched. Instead of say anything more about the number of times he’s been raped in past years, he instead replies, “You’ve been nice to me. From the moment I met you, you’ve done everything you can to be kind, to let me do what I want to do.” He turns his head to catch sight of Steve’s eyes. “Nothing’s the way it’s supposed to be,” he says sadly. “Not anymore. But just now? You made it about as close as it could be.” He lets their fingers thread together underneath the water, giving Steve’s hand a meaningful squeeze. “Thank you for that.”

Steve smiles weakly at him. “Of course.” He pulls Bucky back against his chest with a firm arm and Bucky sighs into it.

“…Steve,” he asks carefully, once the steam has started to fade from the top of the bathwater. “Could I maybe stay here tonight?” 

“Here?”

Bucky nods a little, nerves jumping more than he’d like to admit at the request. “With you,” he clarifies. “Can I sleep in here with you?” He feels his face heat and averts his eyes to the far wall. “I’d rather not be alone right now,” he adds softly, heart beating out of his chest as he waits for Steve’s answer. The idea of going all the way up to his cold, little room on the third floor of the house seems semi-unbearable now.

“Sure,” Steve says, sounding taken aback. “I mean of course you can.” He hugs Bucky tightly once more. “You’re always welcome to stay,” he says shyly. “I want you to be comfortable here.”

Bucky doesn’t say anything else after that, but he does wiggle back up against Steve to keep their bodies pressed close. “Thank you,” he says again this time no louder than a murmur.


	11. Conception

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Tag/warnings: tazing, (almost) forced oral sex

“What are your symptoms?"

Bucky rubs his thumb and forefinger over the hem of the hospital gown he’s wearing. It feels flimsy; so different from the heavy red garments he’s made to wear these days. “Nausea, fatigue, …a tiny bit of bleeding.” Bucky sighs, looks down at the floor. “I didn’t have a heat last month.” That’d been the worst sign, had been what’d prompted Commander Warren to make the doctor’s appointment in the first place. Bucky was always regular. Warren had had the opportunity to rape him for eight months straight and his lack of a heat had not gone unnoticed. 

“Well let’s not get too excited,” the doctor says. He looks seriously at Bucky. “I’ll take your blood and we’ll see.” Bucky looks at him questioningly and the man elaborates, “The commanders aren’t any different from any other guys on the planet. They like to blame you all for the fertility crisis but they’re often shooting blanks, you know?”

Bucky shrugs. Yeah he does know, but it’s not a good idea to say it aloud. “Just do the test?” he asks.

The doctor nods. A nurse brings in a rolling cart of supplies. It makes an unpleasant memory surface in Bucky’s mind; one of ominous surgical instruments on a similar cart, but he pushes it from his thoughts. The doctor tells him to put his arm out for the needle, and he does.

-

“…You know there is an alternative option.”

Bucky raises his eyes to the man who’s just taken his blood. “What?”

The doctor shrugs. “I could uh, help you out. If you really need to get pregnant.”

Bucky’s frozen for a minute, not understanding, and then he cringes. _Oh_. He hopes his disgust doesn’t show as much externally as it does in his mind. “I don’t think—” he starts,

“Nobody has to know,” the doctor says. He sounds nervous but he’s looking at Bucky with undisguised lust. “I mean if you’re facing the colonies…”

Bucky frowns. He’s heard of other people doing it this way; other vessels as desperate to have a baby as he is. But he knows that it’s too risky. Commander Warren might be infertile, but if Bucky sleeps with this doctor he could get caught. And if he’s caught he won’t lose another arm. He knows that. He’ll almost certainly be put to death. “I’m sorry,” he nearly whispers to the other man. “But I can’t.”

The doctor’s eyes darken, looking displeased, but in the end all he does is huff and take Bucky’s blood sample away.

-

“Congratulations, you’re pregnant.”

That’s the second damned time in his life that Bucky’s heard those words directed at him in a doctor’s office, and as messed up as it is, this time he’s considerably less disappointed. “Oh,” he says, feeling oddly relieved. “Okay.” Unconsciously, his one remaining hand floats to his flat stomach. If he’s pregnant, he thinks, he’s saved. He won’t have to get cancer and tumors and die in a toxic wasteland.

The doctor purses his lips. He hands Bucky a sheet of paper. It’s folded up since omegas like Bucky aren’t supposed to read anymore. “Give that to your commander,” he says.

Bucky peeks up at him. The guy doesn’t look friendly anymore, and Bucky figures that he’s miffed at having his oh-so-generous offer to breed him rejected. “Thank you,” he mutters anyway. He knows it’s best to be meek and grateful in this new society of theirs, after all. No matter what’s happening. Taser sticks and cables to the feet have taught him that.

.oOo.

When he gets home from his appointment, Bucky puts his paper from the doctor on the hall table, where all the household mail goes. He doesn’t want to have to personally deliver it to the commander, so this seems like the best option. He goes towards the stairs that lead to the basement; to where his room is. 

“Ofwarren.”

Bucky’s eyes shoot up. His lips tighten. “Commander,” he says quietly. 

“How did it go at the doctor’s?” he asks. Frankly, Bucky is surprised the man remembered. Commander Warren is a very busy man. He’s a judge. Deals with some cases like Bucky himself had been. Bucky doesn’t know if his commander has been responsible for sentencing anybody to an amputation, but it’s a distinct possibility. 

“Fine,” Bucky says. “The report’s on the hall table.”

“Good.” Warren tilts his head at Bucky. “Come on into the living room with me, will you?”

Bucky would rather not, but he knows that it’s not really a request. He has to go. He follows Warren into the room, watching as the other man sits down onto the sectional couch that dominates the space. The room’s large flat screen is muted, set to the state news channel, and Bucky is smart enough to divert his eyes from the closed captioning that runs across the bottom of the screen. “Commander,” he says, trying to sound respectful. “What did you need?”

Warren gives Bucky a knowing look and says, “I’ve had a rough day, and my wife is visiting her sister in Bethesda .” 

Bucky knows what that means but unless he’s specifically ordered to do it, he won’t. “Okay,” he says.

“A little stress-relief is in order. Come here,” Warren says. He’s pointing at the carpet in front of him.

Bucky gulps but does as instructed. He gets to his knees in front of commander Warren. “Sir,” he says quietly. It’s not quite a question, but he wants it to be. He doesn’t want to have to do this again. 

“Open my pants,” he says.

Bucky reaches forward with his right hand—the only one he has to work with anymore. Commander Warren doesn’t like to be reminded of that fact but it’s hardly as if he can do anything about that now. He gets the man’s fly open and starts to work the elastic of his briefs down too.

“Oh my God. What the _fuck_ are you doing?”

Bucky’s heart leaps into his throat as he jerks his hand back. A terrified glance to the side shows that Mrs. Putnam is standing at the entrance to the living room. He feels like he could get sick.

“Fuck.” Warren shoves Bucky hard enough that he falls back on his ass, his own hands hastily yanking up his pants. “Carol, this isn’t what it looks like…”

Mrs. Putnam looks angrier than Bucky’s ever seen her. Not that he can exactly blame her. He’d been about to blow her husband, after all. She calls out, summoning the man whom Bucky knows is the household guardian. “Jasper!” She nearly screams. She looks crazy as she calls for him. Bucky swallows heavily, wanting to run. But he’s splayed out uselessly on the floor, not feeling like he’s allowed to get up.

It takes only seconds for Sitwell to arrive. “Ma’am,” he says respectfully. If he makes anything of the disheveled commander and Bucky sitting there on the floor, he doesn’t comment on it. “What do you need?” he asks.

“ _This_ ,” she says, grabbing the taser stick off of his belt with such force that the little plastic clip that holds it in place snaps.

“ _Ma’am!_ ”

Mrs. Putnam hardly spares him a glance. She stalks towards Bucky, furious. Before Bucky can do so much as shout in protest, she’s got the taser jabbed to the side of his neck, delivering an excruciating wave of electricity to his body.

“ _Ahhh!_ ”

“Carol!”

“Shut up!” she yells at Warren. 

Bucky gasps desperately as the taser is pulled back. He leans on his hand, taking in deep, gulping breaths. “Oh my God,” he heaves. “Oh… _God_.”

Mrs. Putnam’s eyes fix back on him. “You filthy whore!” she yells, swinging the baton so that the side of it collides with Bucky’s mouth. His head whips to the side and blood goes spraying in a line, hitting the room’s Persian carpet and the hardwood floor beyond. 

“Carol!”

“Mrs. Putnam…”

“Shut up! Both of you!” She points to her head of security, then to Bucky. “Arrest him! He’s been _fornicating_ with my husband!”

“Ma’am,” Sitwell hedges, looking helplessly at commander Warren, “He’s your husband’s registered vessel. I can’t just—”

“I don’t _care!_ ” she shrieks. She moves forward, going up to Bucky again and sticking the end of the taser into his ribcage. 

Bucky shouts in agony, body jerking away from the pain. “Stop!” he yells. “Please!”

“Carol stop this at once!”

“Please?!” Mrs. Putnam is saying to Bucky, her face still screwed up in anger. She gets down onto the carpeted floor near where Bucky has crumpled from the pain, puts her face right into his. “How long have you been doing this?! How long have you been fucking my husband you slut?!”

Bucky’s nearly breathless but he manages to turn his head in her direction. Panting, he says, “What? You’ve been holding my wrist while he fucks me for eight months.”

Mrs. Putnam makes some sort of choked-off noise in her throat, so outraged that she apparently can’t even verbalize properly any more. She simply jerks towards him, jabbing him yet _again_ with the taser stick, only this time she keeps it pressed against him, not drawing it away. 

Bucky grunts, saliva dripping from his mouth as he tries to scream and nothing comes out. The pain is terrible, overwhelming. Not the worst he’s ever felt but definitely bad enough to prevent him from being able to do anything to even try and protect himself. He simply makes loud, pathetic animal noises as his body tries to curl into itself at the onslaught.

“ _Carol_!” 

The pain stops abruptly. Bucky gasps, sobs wracking him and still unwilling to uncurl himself. “Oh God,” he gasps. “Fuck, fuck. You crazy bitch.”

“Did you hear what he said?!”

Bucky doesn’t even think before he says it, he just blurts, “I’m pregnant you stupid cunt!”

.oOo.

The next day, Bucky has taser burns on his body. He’s served decadent French toast for breakfast, and he catches sight of Mrs. Putnam arranging nursery furniture in one of the spare bedrooms.


	12. Before

Bucky is splayed out on his dorm room bed, laying underneath his boyfriend and halfway to naked since they’ve been making out and groping one another for nearly an hour now. In the background, TNT’s rerun of _The Mummy_ is nearing its final scenes, but they stopped paying attention to it long ago.

“You nervous?” Derek asks him. 

Bucky huffs a little in embarrassment. “M’not,” he says. “I’m fine.” He opens his mouth up to accept the next kiss that Derek gives him. 

“It’s your first time,” he says when he pulls back. “You’re allowed to be.” One of his warm hands comes up and cradles Bucky’s jaw, his thumb rubbing over the skin of his cheek. He ducks down and gives Bucky what feels like one of the most tender kisses they’ve ever shared. Derek groans against him and moves his hips. Bucky can feel the intimidating weight of his erection through his sweatpants. “Come on,” Derek coaxes, pulling back enough to help Bucky start pulling down his waistband. “Get naked babe. Want to feel you against me.” Derek sits back and starts hastily removing his own pants and underwear. 

_God, his body is gorgeous_ , Bucky thinks. He smiles, forgetting to be nervous for a minute as he remembers how much this beautiful man likes him. He forgets sometimes, and each time he’s reminded of it he feels like he’s won some sort of lottery. Bucky’s only a freshman in his first semester and Derek’s a senior—one of the best-looking guys Bucky’s seen on campus. And he _wants_ Bucky, wants to date him and be his boyfriend, and he’s been willing to _wait_ for him. Wait for him to be ready. It’s amazing, makes Bucky feel incredibly special. So he swallows his nerves and gets naked too.

Derek’s heavy body on top of his is one of the best things Bucky thinks he’s ever felt. “Oh,” he hums lightly as Derek rocks their hips together, their erections touching. “Oh Der, that’s good.”

“Yeah?” Derek asks. He threads the fingers of one hand through Bucky’s hair and tugs hard enough to get him to bare his neck. Bucky hisses at the pain and the feeling of Derek’s breath against his lips. “You want me to fuck you?” he asks hotly. “Make you mine?”

“Guh,” Bucky says ineloquently. He tilts his hips up and wraps his legs around Derek’s waist. “Yeah,” he says, “please.”

Derek chuckles and runs his hands down Bucky’s sides, tickling him along his ribs and grinning at Bucky’s complaining shrieks. “Aw,” he teases, “Sensitive here?” Bucky huffs because Derek damn-well knows that he is. Then one hand continues down further, trailing between his legs and back to the crack of his ass. Bucky’s gasp at the feeling of fingers at his entrance is loud and unintended. “Even more sensitive here, aren’t you?” Derek hums darkly. His fingers curl over the outside of Bucky’s hole, rubbing in the slick there. “Fuck baby, so wet for me.”

“Yeah.” Bucky presses his head back into the pillow and cants his hips up farther. “Want to feel you,” he says, feeling more fragile than he’ll ever likely admit. He _is_ nervous. “Make it feel good?” he asks softly.

Derek’s expression melts a little bit, and he leans down to kiss Bucky. “Of course,” he tells him, slipping a finger inside of him and swallowing his cry at the feeling of it. When he pulls back and there’s barely an inch between their faces, he tells him tenderly, “I promise. Gonna make you feel so good baby. You’ll never want anything else.”

Bucky loses his virginity very sweetly that night, completely in love with the man who takes it. They don’t use protection, and two weeks later they break up. 

.oOo.

Bucky lays in the sheets and waits for his breathing to calm, for his heartbeat to return to normal. Behind him, it feels like Steve’s doing the same. His body is hard and sweaty against Bucky’s back, and he’s continuously running his hands over Bucky’s arm and sides in comfort as they both calm down. They’re still tied from the sex they’ve just had and if the other two nights they’ve spent together are anything to go by, they’ll be stuck this way for a good twenty minutes at least. 

Bucky sighs into the pillow at the soothing way Steve’s hands are floating over the skin of his ribcage. “You know I used to be so ticklish there,” he comments lightly.

“Yeah?” Steve sounds just as wrung out and exhausted as Bucky feels but he does press a kiss to the back of Bucky’s neck. He keeps stroking his sides. “Not anymore?”

“Mm mn.”

“What happened then?” Steve asks. He doesn’t sound like he cares, but Bucky tells him,

“I think when they took my arm—” Bucky pauses because Steve is suddenly tensing up; he can feel it. “Sorry,” he says quickly, shutting up. “I won’t talk about it.”

“It’s okay.” Steve is immediately pulling Bucky back firmly against his chest. “I don’t mind hearing. Tell me.”

Bucky shrugs, embarrassed now because he figures it grosses Steve out that he’s missing a limb. It had certainly grossed Commander Warren out. “…I just think all that cutting where there were nerves and shit rewired some stuff,” he admits. “I haven’t been ticklish since they did it.”

Steve is quiet for a long time, though he doesn’t pull away. If anything, he holds Bucky tighter. Eventually, he whispers into Bucky’s hair, “I’m sorry for what they did to you. You have no idea how sorry I am.”

“S’not your fault,” Bucky mutters. He closes his eyes where Steve can’t see. “You’ve made things better. Being here with you is better.”

“…What was your life like? Before?”

“You really want to know?” Bucky can feel Steve shrug against him.

“I’ll tell you if you tell me.”

Bucky thinks about it, wonders if he can afford to give Steve the ammunition of his past. He decides that he can. “I was a freshman at NYU when it happened.”

“Engineering major, English lit minor,” Steve says.

Bucky is surprised. “You remembered,” he astounds.

“Of course I did.”

“Jeeze Steve.” Bucky doesn’t know what to say to that, so he just continues. “I’d gotten a pretty coveted internship at Stark Industries. Was going to start it that summer.”

“But the coup happened,” Steve supplies.

“Yeah, the coup happened. My uh, my dad died. Mom and sisters made it up to Canada. I was able to get one letter from them while I was still with the resistance. They’re safe.”

“That’s good.” Steve strokes his fingers idly over Bucky’s hip. “My dad died when I was a baby. Mom passed when I was in high school.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It’s in the past,” Steve says. “I was really in to art. Had a job as an art therapist for vets before. Even had a girlfriend for a while—Peggy—before the political situation started to turn. But then I just got so involved with Shield that we lost touch.” Steve shrugs. “I’m not sure what happened to her. She was British; had dual-citizenship, so I’m hoping she made it out."

“I see.” Bucky doesn’t know what to think of Steve with a girlfriend—a regular, real-world one. It’s an odd picture since Bucky’s only ever known him in the context of commander. He tries to imagine a world where Steve was just a regular guy, helping people at the V.A. and going on movie dates with some pretty woman. He comes up blank. “I wonder if anybody still has regular relationships like that anymore,” he muses. “I miss it.”

“Did you ever have someone?” Steve asks, voice gentle but curious.

“I… yeah. I had a boyfriend that last year. We didn’t exactly work out.”

“What happened?” 

Bucky twists his lips in discomfort where Steve can’t see. “He got tired of me I guess, even though I was completely infatuated with him.”

“Shit.”

Bucky squirms, whines when it makes him pull against their tie. “Sorry!” he hisses as Steve’s hands grab his hips to hold him still. Bucky lets him and he sighs. “It was just a crappy breakup. Normal college stuff. But it _was_ why I got red-tagged.”

“What?” Steve sounds confused. “What do you mean?”

“I wound up pregnant. Had to have an abortion. The Faithful got their hands on my medical records. They took one look at ‘em and then, well… then they were never going to let me go.”

“Oh, Bucky.” Steve’s arms wrap around him, large and safe. “I’m sorry.”

Bucky shrugs and echoes Steve’s words: “It’s in the past.”

Steve kisses him again, this time on his shoulder. “That’s tough,” he says. 

“Yeah.”

“Bucky…about not using the condoms…”

Bucky sighs. “I already told you—”

“I know, I know what you said. It’s just… I know you’re being coerced into this; wanting a baby. You shouldn’t have to do it this way.” 

He sounds so damned sorrowful that it makes Bucky’s heart melt in appreciation for the guy. He presses himself back into Steve’s hold, to where their bodies are locked together. “I know,” he says softly. “Nothing I can do about it though.”

“Did you ever… I mean _before_ , did you ever used think about having a family one day?—the _real_ way?”

Bucky sighs. He knows what Steve means. “Yeah,” he admits. “I wanted what everybody else does I guess. Get married one day, have kids. Did you?”

“Of course.”

“Why didn’t you?”

Steve huffs. “I dunno. Guess I just never found the right partner.”

Neither one of them elaborates. The only way the conversation can go now is for one or both of them to admit how their dreams and plans have been smashed to shit. Given that they’ve just finished fucking, it’s not a topic either one of them wants to delve into. So instead Bucky asks, “Where on earth did you get the condoms?”

“Oh.” Steve sounds startled, but he’s quick to sober. “Shield, actually.”

“Shield?”

“Yeah. It's my job to get information from the top out to them. We have a… covert system of communication. Can’t exactly go making calls and sending emails. The faithful monitor that stuff.”

Bucky puffs air between his teeth. “Yeah, I’m aware.”

“So we have other ways of getting information around.”

Bucky desperately wants to ask what those ways are, but he forces himself to hold his tongue. Steve has told him before that Shield information is off-limits, and Bucky doesn’t want to push his luck. Instead he dares to ask, “Do you think you could, um…”

“What?” Steve prompts when Bucky’s silent for too long. “What is it?”

“Would you maybe be able to get a letter to my family?” Bucky asks, trying hard not to get his hopes up. “In Canada? If I wrote one?” He reaches down to cover Steve’s hand with his own. “I want them to know I’m safe. They haven’t heard from me in three years.”

“Do you know where they are?”

Bucky’s heart beats a little faster. “In Toronto,” he says. “Some guy’s townhome. I can’t remember the address but the street name was some kind of bird, like Robin or Swallow or—”

“There are a lot of refugees in Canada Buck,” Steve warns. “Millions.”

Bucky’s heart sinks. “Oh. Yeah. Guess it was stupid to think that—”

“But they’re supposedly working on some sort of refugee registration system,” Steve says. “To help aid families in reuniting.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.” Steve squeezes their hands together. “I’ll see what I can find out, okay? It could take time, but I’ll try.”

“Okay.” Bucky feels his eyes burn suddenly, the urge to cry coming on. He forces it away, not wanting Steve to notice. “Thank you,” he whispers instead. “You have no idea how much that would mean to me.”

Steve just kisses him softly on the back of his head and tells him he’s welcome, and that they should try and sleep.


	13. Freedom From

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dear Lord, what is happening to me? I'm getting more and more masochistic. Under his Eye.
> 
> Chapter tags/warnings: corporal punishment, non-con body modification

Bucky sits in one of the desks that litter the classroom, fingers curled over the edge of its surface to keep himself from fidgeting. There’s no rifle on his back, no pistol at his waist or thigh, and no knives tucked into the places in-between. He hasn’t been armed in days and without the reassuring weight of steel and bullets against his body Bucky feels like The Faithful might as well have stolen his sanity instead of his weapons, for how nervous it’s making him.

Most of the other desks in the classroom are similarly occupied. The other omegas range in age from young to middle-aged. They’re male and female, just about every racial makeup. The one thing they all have in common, other than their designation, is that they’re all a hot mess—disheveled and disoriented. Yeah, Bucky paints a pretty sad picture in his mud-streaked tee and torn BDUs, but it’s not as if anybody else looks happy or composed either. They’re the new intake group for this red center. That’s what the guardians who’d shoved Bucky in here had called it. He’s got no idea what the fuck a “red center” is supposed to be, but they’ve all supposedly been herded into this old classroom to hurry up and wait for someone else to come and explain it to them. Bucky scoffs where he sits. He’s sure it’s not going to be good news. He’s pretty sure that they’re going to be sent to prison or something. Maybe sent to the colonies. By now he’s worked out that it’s not execution they’re facing. It’s been over seventy-two hours since he was black bagged in Pennsylvania, after all. If Bucky’s learned anything as a member of the resistance, it’s that if you’re going to kill someone, you kill them.

Tapping comes from the front of the room and Bucky eyes the blackboard peevishly. Several of the younger omegas have left their seats, are fiddling around because they’re bored. Bucky frowns at where the one nearest to him is scrawling sloppy cursive with some chalk. “You shouldn’t be doing that,” he warns him lowly.

The kid looks back at him. “They don’t care,” he says, continuing with his cursive. 

“Kind of think they do,” Bucky mutters, but he’s not saying it to be heard. Several of the other omegas in the room are up there with the kid, drawing and scribbling on the blackboard with the few stubs of chalk that haven’t been lost to time by now. Bucky sighs and tries to force himself to relax a bit. A quick glance back to the room’s door shows him that the armed guardian who’s posted there hasn’t moved a muscle to stop the kids from writing. Bucky’s guts untwist a little. _Okay_ , he thinks, _so maybe nobody’ll lose a hand for that_. Bigger fish to fry, and all. 

-

“Everybody in your seats. Eyes forward!”

Bucky’s eyes snap open at the guardian’s terse commands. He hasn’t moved from his position at the door so Bucky doesn’t panic, but still, _shit_. He jerks upright in his little desk and hastily wipes the drool from his mouth. He hadn’t meant to nod off but he’s hardly slept in three days. Hardly eaten either but it’s not like the people who’ve been shuffling him around have offered much. He blinks his eyes and takes stock of the situation. Three people have entered the room. They’re all wearing blue, which tells Bucky that they’re betas. Their clothes match, like uniforms. Two of them post themselves by the back corners of the room while the third, a woman with an unwarranted smile, stands in front like a teacher. “Hello,” she greets.

There’s shuffling and a few nervous coughs, but nobody offers a greeting back. The woman seems unperturbed. She just keeps on looking at them with that same friendly face. “I… am Aunt Lydia. And we’re all going to become very good friends.” 

Bucky raises an eyebrow. 

“I’m a caretaker here at the Silver Spring Red Center, an Aunt.”

 _Ah_ , Bucky thinks, recognizing the name of the city. So they're close to Washington D.C. He hadn’t been aware they’d traveled that far, but it’s not as if the van the soldiers had dumped him in had had windows. 

“What is this?” Somebody at the back of the room is complaining. “We’ve been sitting here for hours!”

“Yeah, what the hell is going on?”

“What the fuck is a ‘red center’?” 

It’s the younger ones who are mouthing off, and Bucky grits his teeth and wishes they’d shut the hell up. There are more than a few in their sad group who have bruises and other visible injuries, after all. Can’t these kids tell when they’ve been beaten? Bucky wonders why some people have to be so dumb.

“This isn’t legal. Let us outta here you stupid assholes!”

The guardian takes a step away from his post at the door, hand curling threateningly over what Bucky has already identified as a military-grade stun baton, but the woman at the front of the room— _Aunt Lydia_ it would seem—holds up a hand to tell him to stand down. “I think everyone here can appreciate that we’re tired and scared, hm?” Lydia says. She’s got a way of speaking that unnerves Bucky. Overly-calm and condescending. She points to the baton at her own belt in warning. “As I said I’m a caretaker here at the red center. You all will be expected to behave and do as you’re told, otherwise you will be corrected.” Someone in the back row scoffs, but Bucky can’t pick out who it is. Neither can the other caretakers it seems, thank goodness. Whoever made the noise offers no further sound of protest, and so Lydia moves on. “Now, I believe that somebody asked what exactly a red center was, yes?” Nobody says anything. “I’m sure you’re all wondering that.” She smiles at them. “You are all here to help our nation rebuild itself. You,” she beams at them, “are so lucky!” If her enthusiasm is at all fake, it’s hard to tell. Bucky watches with a sense of trepidation as she continues. “The fertility crisis. So many young men and women are unable to have children anymore. You all know. For years now, even omegas have struggled to bring new life into the world. The population is dwindling and you all are—” 

“Oh you’ve got to be freaking kidding me.” Bucky’s eyes widen and he peeks back to see the person who’s spoken out of turn. It’s a young African American woman, one of the few who’ve been visibly beaten. She looks tired and dirty and royally pissed-off.

“Excuse me?” Aunt Lydia says calmly.

“I thought it was a joke. I mean it had to be made up, right? Breeding centers run by the holy rollers. You can only make shit like that up.”

“You’re going to want to be quiet now, dear,” Aunt Lydia warns.

“You freaks shot my girlfriend yesterday! You think I’m going to make _babies_ for you?!” She shoves up from her desk and gets about one half step away from it before one of the caretakers in the back row is tazing her. Several of the other omegas gasp as the girl crumples back into her seat. 

“There, there. Let’s everyone just please calm down,” Aunt Lydia soothes. She eyes them seriously. “As I said: misbehavior will be corrected.” When nobody makes any further protests, she continues, “You all are very special young men and women. Some of the most valuable in the nation, in fact. Do you know why?” Nobody answers, and she tells them cheerfully, “ _You_ have been blessed with the gift of fertility.”

Aunt Lydia’s speech is all downhill from there.

-

They’re all given two sets of stark red clothing to wear. They’re made to shower and change into said clothes, and then the ones of them who’re deemed in need of it are given haircuts. Bucky’s one of them. He sits in what was once the school’s gym locker-room, straddling the thin wooden bench between lockers as a beta man cuts his hair. The guardian from before is standing watch. He’s thumbing over the screen of his phone and Bucky doesn’t know that it has anything to do with him until the guy says so. He gestures to what he’s reading on the phone and asks Bucky, “You got bagged fighting with the resistance?”

Bucky twitches. “Huh?”

“ _Hold still_ ,” the man cutting his hair snaps down at him. “Unless you want something asymmetrical.” 

Bucky frowns but holds himself still. “How do you know that?” he asks the guardian.

“Got your file here,” the guy says. He looks critically at Bucky. “How the hell old are you anyway?”

“Twenty-one.”

The man snorts. “Christ.”

Bucky’s sure that’s supposed to annoy him, but he lets it go in favor of asking, “Who are you? And how come I need a personal armed guard for a haircut?” 

The man smirks a little at him. “Name’s Brock, and it’s standard procedure for any vessel with military training. Even baby ones like you.”

Bucky frowns. It’s been explained to him what that means now. “Vessel” is The Faithful’s term for fertile omegas, and Red Centers are where they keep them. “Great,” he says.

“Don’t worry,” Brock tells him. “They got drugs for special cases like you.”

“What?! What the hell for?”

“HOLD. STILL. I’m trying to cut your damned hair.”

Brock shrugs. “So you don’t get ideas about escaping. They’ll get you medicated and I’ll get off your back.”

Bucky sneers. “Fucking great.”

That night, Bucky is forcibly injected with something. It takes a few minutes for it to kick in, but he quickly figures out that it’s some sort of mild sedative. The guardian from before—Brock—had been right. It’s not going to be easy escaping from here.

-

It takes a week, but eventually one of Bucky’s group fucks up badly enough that they’re dragged away screaming. It happens at lunchtime, when everybody’s supposed to be bent docily over their little plastic trays and eating their carefully-portioned meals in the school’s old cafeteria. A young man with red hair and a perpetually angry expression _flips out_ at “Uncle Eric” and tries attacking him. It doesn’t go well.

That night when they’re all tucked into their sleeping bags atop their cots in the gymnasium, the redheaded guy is brought back by two caretakers who lay him down in his bed and walk away. He’s a whimpering and babbling mess but it’s too dark in the room to see why. Bucky and the others nearby peek over but nobody gets up. They know they’re not supposed to get out of bed. 

“What’s wrong with him?” Somebody asks in the dark.

“What’s his name?”

“He’s the one that freaked out at lunch.”

“It’s Spencer, right? Hey Spencer, what’s wrong? What’d they do?”

The young man just moans into his pillow. Eventually somebody in the cot next to Spencer’s is able to ascertain what’s been done to him, and they gasp and hiss out that, “ _They fucking took his eye!_ ”

Everyone exclaims so much in the dark at that, that it doesn’t take long for a caretaker to notice, shine a flashlight their way and shut them up. A long while later the whispering picks back up and Bucky can’t help but to mutter, “Damn,” underneath his breath. “This is fucked.”

“It’s what they do,” a girl the next cot over from Bucky’s says. She’s one of the ones like Bucky who keeps to themselves and doesn’t usually talk much. Her name is Wanda, Bucky thinks. She has an accent, has been at the Red Center longer than most of their group. She blinks at him through the dark. “You might want to steel yourself for a similar fate.”

Bucky frowns. “What?”

“You got caught fighting with those terrorists, right?”

Bucky frowns harder. “I think they’d prefer the term army.”

“Yeah well whatever.” She shrugs. A flash of light scans over the room as another of the caretakers does a round, and the two of them freeze up and pretend to sleep for the long moment that it takes for the light to pass. When they peek their eyes open again, she tells Bucky, “That’s some serious shit. They’ll probably cut your eye out too. Or something else you’ll miss.”

“What?!” Bucky hisses. “No way. They won’t.” He gulps, feeling terrified at the thought. “They’re not gonna hurt us. We’re they’re precious fucking Vessels. Baby-making machines.”

The girl just shrugs and tucks further into her sleeping bag. “Don’t need eyes for that.”

-

Bucky’s in the communal showers. It’s afternoon and he’s the only one in there. The only reason he’s allowed the privilege is because he’s newly back from his trial and… punishment. He won’t have to rejoin everyone else in the daily routines until he’s better-healed, off his pain meds a bit.

He stands to the side of the spray, letting it hit his right side but not his left. It’s funny, he thinks as he dispenses soap from the container on the wall; he feels drained and hollow. He’s barely cried since the surgery. He knows he hasn’t processed it yet, hasn’t made peace with it. When he does face it he knows he’ll freak out, but his mind is shielding itself for now. He can’t handle thinking about the fact that he has no left arm anymore. He can’t. Bucky LET them do it and that’s the part that he needs to not think about the most. He could have fought, he thinks as he soaps his chest up, his shoulder (he avoids the left one). He could’ve fought hard. He’s not exactly a small guy after all. He’s way bigger than most male omegas and he’s had military training besides. He could’ve at least put up some sort of fight once they’d gotten him to the hospital. Maybe could’ve tried to take one of those little omega girls in the emergency room hostage, held her in front of himself like a shield to get out onto the street…

He sighs, turning around to let the water hit his back. No, he thinks. It would’ve ended the same. 

“You need help?” 

Bucky glances up. Brock, again. He’s watching him. It seems to fall to this guy more than any other. The caretakers don’t like to deal with troublemakers like Bucky if they can help it. They leave menial tasks such as this to the guardians. “M’fine,” he mumbles. He makes no move to shield his modesty. That’s not something he really thinks about anymore. They’ve taken that away from him like everything else. And he’s pretty sure Brock won’t try to touch him anyways. The man hasn’t tried yet, and he’s had plenty of opportunity.

“It’s a shame,” Brock muses, clearly staring at the amputation site. His eyes don’t hold disgust, which is a mystery to Bucky. He’s seen it—it’s terrible looking. “You’re a handsome guy,” Brock says. “Sort of guy I would’ve gone for, before.”

Bucky’s eyes widen, alarmed. He’s never heard one of The Faithful talk about before. It seems, to him at least, that they don’t really view _before_ as before. It was just a time of waiting, like they always knew they’d wind up here. True Believers don’t remember _before_ as something to be missed. Rather it was just a time of confident anticipation, like the Jews waiting for their exodus or something (Bucky’s knowledge of the bible is pretty iffy, but he thinks he remembers some such story). “I’m sorry?” he says, standing numbly under the spray of the shower and staring at Brock.

He shrugs. “You’re a piece of work, Barnes. But I kind of liked your spirit.” He offers him a grin, less sarcastic than usual. “Did they cut that out of you too?”

Bucky’s lips tighten and he turns back around in the shower. He wants to say no: that they haven’t taken that yet. Maybe he can’t handle thinking about his arm too much yet, but even worse is the idea that maybe, just maybe, he’s starting to really think that this is going to last. That unlike _before_ , there won’t be an _after_. Maybe he’s stuck like this and should just give the fuck up.

-

Bucky thinks about Isaac Asimov’s three laws. A robot may not injure a human being, through action or inaction. A robot must obey orders, except where such orders would conflict with the first law. A robot must protect its own existence, as long as such protection does not conflict with the first or second law. 

They’re kind of like robots, now. Sometimes Bucky feels like one, marching along from room to room, class to class, with the other vessels. They do what they’re told. They follow orders, they obey the people in charge of them and do their best to stay sane. The application of the third law is a little iffy; they’re not supposed to kill themselves, but circumstances being what they are…

…Well, it happens.

“What Kevin did,” one of the more zealous caretakers tells them over breakfast, “was a sin against God. An abomination.”

Bucky rolls his eyes at his oatmeal. Everything is an abomination. Especially to Uncle Greg.

“We must remember that He sees everything!” Greg tells them. “The Lord _abhors_ despair.”

“You know what else he abhors?” Spencer says lowly, so that only the few sitting nearby at their table can hear. “Greg’s sermons.”

Several people snicker. Bucky offers a weak, token smile. He’d liked Kevin. Kevin had grown up in Brooklyn, too, had slept in the cot right next to Bucky’s. Bucky goes back to eating, thinking about it. Now Kevin is dead. He hung himself in the school’s gymnasium. Used one of the old volleyball nets. Morbidly, Bucky wonders if he’d have the guts to do the same. 

“‘Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous. Do not be frightened, and do not be dismayed, for the LORD your God is with you wherever you go.’” Bucky looks up in surprise to where Wanda has muttered from across the table. She peeks at him. “Joshua. Chapter one, verse nine.” She lowers her eyes back down to her plate. Bucky watches her as she starts back in on her yogurt. “Don’t give up,” she tells him, peeking up once more. “Not yet.”

Bucky frowns. She must think he needs the moral support, what with having lost his friend and his arm all in the same week. “Thanks,” he mutters back at her, spooning more oatmeal into his mouth. He doesn’t have the heart to mention that he doesn’t believe in God anymore. 

-

“And what happened then?” Aunt Lydia asks. She’s standing next to Wanda, who’s in a chair in the center of their circle of chairs. 

“…Then she just…” Wanda clenches her lips shut, wincing at her memory. 

Aunt Lydia’s hand curls supportively over her shoulder. “Go ahead, dear.”

It takes her a minute, but eventually Wanda steels herself and she nods and continues, “She bit me. She held me down and she just… dug in.” Wanda sniffles. “There was nothing I could do. I screamed, but no one came.” Wanda sobs. “Nobody did anything. She graduated that semester and went home to Ohio. I got so sick from it, I had to drop out so I could check into a detox clinic.”

Bucky’s sat there with everyone else and listened to Wanda lay out this sad, sick story of what’d happened to her when she was in college. It’s not a completely unfamiliar tale, but it’s disturbing nonetheless. He glances around the circle and sees that many of the others are looking on with pained, pinched expressions as well, like they want to say something in commiseration to Wanda and are barely holding themselves back from it. They’re not supposed to; that’s not the point of this ‘lesson’. 

“But whose fault was this?” Aunt Lydia says. Everyone looks around the circle nervously, not knowing what to do or say. “Did this situation just materialize from the heavens? Hm? Did it just spontaneously happen? Of course not!” Aunt Lydia shrugs. “So why, then?” Her hand leaves Wanda’s shoulder and she abandons her there in the center of the circle. Bucky’s eyes track Aunt Lydia as she walks around and asks them all again. “ _Why_ would God allow such a terrible thing to happen?” She points at Wanda. “To teach her a lesson.”

Bucky swallows, feeling sick.

Aunt Lydia looks at them all. “To teach you all a lesson!”

“What?” somebody says, though Bucky can’t tell who. Several in their circle mutter, but the muttering dies down once the caretakers zap one of them. 

Aunt Lydia tells them, “You’ve got to learn that there are different _sorts_ of freedom. Before, you could do whatever you wanted. You could have alphas over in your dorm rooms and you could gallivant around and use birth control and suppressants. Subverting God and nature for your own selfish delights!” Here, she pauses and points back to Wanda, who by now is clutching the seat of her chair and looking like she wants to cry. “You had all of that freedom and look what you got for it: Rape. Disrespect. Forced bonding.” She shakes her head. “Before, you all had freedom _to_. Now, you have freedom _from_.” She looks at them seriously. “Don’t take it for granted.”

-

“Your new name will be Ofwarren, after him,” Aunt Lydia tells him as they stand side by side, watching the black SUV approach from the other side of the gates. “This is a new beginning for you. A chance to start fresh. Don’t make trouble and do as you’re told. Remember everything you’ve learned here.”

 _Everything he’s learned here_. Bucky would roll his eyes but he knows that won’t gain him a single thing. All Aunt Lydia wants is a nod anyway, so he affords her one. She seems appeased enough and after a glance to Brock, who is standing there as well, she turns to head back into the center. “Under His Eye,” she says in parting. 

“Under His Eye.”

Bucky and Brock stand in silence, watching as the approaching SUV is guided through the outer two gate checkpoints. Brock is holding Bucky’s right arm in a terse grip and that’s what truly rankles his nerve. “That really necessary?” he asks him tightly. “I mean it isn’t like I’m going to get away.” They both know what he means. Underneath his red clothes, his left side is still bandaged from the surgery.

“You don’t smell scared,” Brock comment lightly, almost as if it doesn’t matter. 

“So?” 

“Everybody’s pretty scared their first posting.”

Bucky shrugs. In all honesty, he is scared. A little leastways. He’s only ever slept with one person after all. But he doesn’t tell Brock that. He just says, “I’ve got a kill list of close to a hundred. This doesn’t scare me.”

“Hmph.” Brock lets go of his arm, looks him in the eye for once. “…Well be careful out there,” he mutters. Before Bucky gets a chance to say anything back, the checkpoint buzzer is ringing and Brock’s pulling open the grated door in front of them.


	14. The Putnams' Household

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter tags/warnings: non-con

“…Grilled cheese sandwiches. With honey-smoked ham and artisan cheese and a fried egg.”

“That makes it an egg ham and cheese sandwich, genius. And I’m pretty sure you could get one’a those out here if you sweet-talked the camp cook for a week.”

“Avacado toast. You remember how avocado toast was a thing for a while? Mmm.”

“Bubble baths.”

“Pedicures.”

Bucky snorts from atop his cinderblock-perch. He’s field-stripped his gun and is cleaning the inner workings. “Jesus, you guys,” he says, oiling the inside of the barrel. “Be a little creative, why don’t ya. And seriously: avocado toast?”

One of the other rebels—a girl named Jenny who looks painfully like Bucky’s sister Clair, says, “Okay well then what do you got Barnes?” She’s nearly six months pregnant by now but that hasn’t killed her desire to fight, or her challenging attitude. “What do you miss the most?”

Bucky frowns and looks back down to his work with his pistol. His gut response is to say something like, _democracy_ , or _school_ , or, _my family_ , but that’s too damned sad and it’ll spoil the game they’re playing, so instead he says, “Porn.” He glances up, sees the surprised faces of everyone in their circle and says, “What? Don’t you all miss rubbing one out to some perfect six-minute clip? Come on Hernandez, we all know that was your go-to, ya pervert.” It does the trick, everybody laughs and starts up again with listing off the things from before that they miss the most, and Bucky’s reputation as the clever one of their group remains solid. 

“Hey Bucky, toss me that bump stock, will ya?”

Bucky looks over to his side, grabs the requested piece and passes it over. 

“Barnes. Gimme a mag. No not that—one of the high-capacity ones.”

Bucky sighs. “What am I, the damned arsenal master?” He hands the magazine over as well. “Get off ‘yer lazy asses and get it yourselves.”

Everybody ignores him. Hernandez starts grumbling about their limited weapons. “This shit’ll only get us so far. We’re taking huge losses out there.”

“We’re doing the best we can.”

“Yeah well it’s not good enough,” he grouses. “S'not a fair fight with what they got. We shouldda hit the national guard before it was taken. Then we’d have some _real_ firepower.” He gets a sick sort of smirk on his face. “Imagine how many a’ those bastards I could’ve taken out yesterday with a fifty cal, huh?”

Bucky snorts, but doesn’t offer any input. He’s a sniper after all. All he does is sit in trees and take out the bad guys one by one. It’s slow but it’s efficient, and he prefers that setup over the spray of bullets down below. 

.oOo.

The quad is packed. It’s the first week of the semester and every club and student organization going has its own pop up tent and tables littering the campus gathering space. Bucky’s seated behind the freshman orientation table, having somehow been roped into the service before he’d even begun orienting _himself_. He’s wearing a nametag that reads: _Hello! I’m: Bucky_ , and he’s sitting next to Quill and Dillan, his new hallmate and roommate, respectively. “So what would you suggest?” Bucky asks Quill, voice a little peevish because they’ve been debating about the issue of gun control and Bucky’s not exactly of the same opinion as him. “That we just let everybody walk around armed to the teeth?” He snorts. “People are angry and stupid. Give ‘em guns and pretty soon they’ll be shooting each other for taking too long in line at Starbucks. Christ.”

Quill grunts, handing an orientation pamphlet to a girl that stops by their booth. “Here ya go,” he says. “No Barnes, that’s not what I’m saying. That’s not the point of the second amendment anyways. It’s so that citizens can protect themselves.”

“Against what?” 

“Like, insurgencies and stuff. Like if the government goes to shit.”

“Oh Jeeze,” Bucky groans. “You’re one of those conspiracy theorists, huh? Or like, a prepper, getting ready for the end times. You got a bunker in the woods somewhere?” he teases.

Quill punches him on the shoulder, but it’s with a good-natured smile. “Shuddup, smartass.” Bucky laughs.

“Oh hey, guys.” Dillan gets their attention, nods across the way to where a group of students is setting up another booth. They’re hanging a banner that reads, _Sons of Jacob|Daughters of Jacob_. “Look at that.”

Quill blows air past his teeth. “Great. And I thought it couldn’t get any worse than the White Student Union.” 

“Lookit: they dress all color-coded.” Dillan snorts. 

“Freaks.”

Bucky twists his lips in discomfort. “It’s a free country,” he mumbles. “And hey, we’ve supposedly got a job to do, right?” He reaches forwards to their own table to shuffle and reorganize their materials. “We’re supposed to be getting the other freshmen to actually come to these lame orientation activities, so let’s get to work.”

Quill salutes him. “Sir yes sir.”

.oOo.

Bucky spends the car ride from the red center to Commander Warren’s house staring out the window, taking in the sight of city streets. Bucky grew up in New York, has never been this far south, so he doesn’t know for sure what Silver Spring _used_ to look like, but he’s got a feeling it wasn’t like this. There are checkpoints every few dozen blocks or so—sparsely-manned, but really, all you need is one guy with a sub machine gun to deter people.

Commander Warren’s home is a small but expensive-looking Georgian that’s sandwiched in a tightly-quartered neighborhood of similar-looking houses. The driveway is short and steep and the man driving the SUV puts the emergency brake on before getting out to open Bucky’s door for him. “This is it,” he tells Bucky, holding out a hand to direct him towards the front door. “Go on inside to the parlor.”

Bucky gulps, feeling intimidated for the first time. For as much as they’d prepared them for their new roles as vessels, the caretakers at the red center hadn’t gone into specifics of what household life would be like once they went back into the real world. Bucky grips the handle of his small suitcase harder as he starts for the house’s front door. He hesitates, not sure if he should knock. In the end he decides to just go in.

The foyer is all marble and glass. It’s outdated, but expensively decorated. Bucky glances around, not sure where to go.

“In here,” someone says from where Bucky can’t see. It’s a woman’s voice. Steeling himself, Bucky heads in the direction of another room. When he rounds the corner he can see who’s spoken. She’s sitting on the room’s couch, dressed in beta blue and hair done up so neatly that it’s obvious she had someone to help her with it. 

Bucky exhales. “Are you Mrs--”

“Putnam,” she replies shortly. “Mrs. Carol Putnam. His wife.”

Bucky nods. “Nice to meet you.”

Her lips thin but she doesn’t correct him. She holds out her arm, indicating that he can take one of the room’s other chairs if he wants to. He does. “So,” she says, folding her hands primly in her lap as she assesses him. “James Barnes.”

“Yes ma’am.”

“This is your first posting?”

“Yes ma’am.”

“Stop… calling me that. You may call me Carol. Or Mrs. Putnam, whichever.” She frowns. “My husband isn’t in right now so it’s fallen to me to welcome you to our home.”

“Oh.” Bucky wonders if he should tell her that she isn’t doing a very good job of it. “Okay.”

“There’s a room set up for you in the basement,” she tells him. “We haven’t had a vessel posted here before; you’re our first, so it’s a bit sparse. If you come across anything that you need you should report it to our Martha and she’ll get it for you.”

“Okay.” 

Mrs. Putnam stares at him, looking him over critically with that same less-than-pleased expression on her face. “Well?” she finally snaps. “Don’t you have any questions for me?”

“Um…” Bucky flounders. He really doesn’t. “No ma’am—I mean Carol. I just…” he glances down awkwardly to his suitcase. “Would you mind if I went to my room and unpacked?”

“Of course not,” she says. She waves her hand back out in the direction of the foyer. “It’s the first door on your left. The whole basement is yours to use. Don’t go wandering around the house for fun. It’s our house, not yours.”

Bucky nods. “Of course.” He stands and picks up his suitcase and makes to head for the foyer. At his back, Mrs. Putnam says quietly,

“I’m sorry but I don’t know quite what to make of this situation, with you here. I… didn’t sign up for this.”

Bucky glances back at her. “Oh?” _Neither did I_ , he wants to say.

“You just… you stay out of my way and I’ll stay out of yours,” she says. “I’m his wife. Until death do us part. Those are the vows we took. You remember that and don’t make trouble, and everything will work out fine I’m sure.”

Bucky frowns. He isn’t so sure, but he doesn’t say that. Instead he just nods respectfully and continues out of the room. 

-

The basement is a finished one, with carpet and painted walls. But it’s clammy and dim, the only light coming in from the window wells. Mrs. Putnam hadn’t been lying; the basement is sparsely-furnished, with a twin bed and small dresser, an occasional chair and a cheap dressing mirror. Bucky doesn’t fail to notice how the mirror is made of plastic, not glass. The attached bathroom that Bucky finds has a tub but no shower, and the mirror above the sink is gone, the plaster faded around where one had apparently hung for years before it’d been removed. Bucky figures that that one had been made of glass.

He turns on the basement lights so that it isn’t quite so dark and gloomy, and sets about unpacking his clothing and toiletries. _Don’t get down in the dumps_ , Bucky tells himself as he places his few items of clothing in the dresser. This is better than the red center, at least. He has his own room here. Privacy is a valuable commodity that he’s missed these past six months. Maybe he’ll be required to have sex with a commander now but a least that’s only a few nights out of each month. All the rest of the time he’ll be allowed his own space. A small smile quirks the side of Bucky’s mouth as he realizes that he can jerk off in the comfort of a bed again. The thought almost makes him chuckle and he looks down at the little twin bed that’s been afforded him. There’re plain white sheets and a quilt that looks soft and homemade. Bucky runs his fingers over it lightly. The bed is made up nicely, but he realizes that no towels have been provided for him, so he heads upstairs to see if he can find the Putnams’ Martha.

He looks in the kitchen first, but nobody’s there, so Bucky cautiously continues looking around on the house’s main level. Mrs. Putnam has disappeared from the front parlor, but Bucky does run into a man in the living room. He stops short when he sees him. “Oh,” he says. “Um…” The man turns around and Bucky instantly figures out that he must be Commander Putnam. He’s wearing a suit like the commanders do. And his insignia bears the symbol of alpha. Bucky lowers his eyes to the carpet. “Sorry,” he says. “Mrs. Putnam told me not to go poking around but I was just trying to find your Martha.”

“Oh?” The commander has a lighter voice than Bucky would’ve expected. It doesn’t match his stature. “What for?”

“Towels,” Bucky says. “I need some.”

“You must be Ofwarren then,” Commander Warren says, and his tone is friendly. 

“I… yeah. I guess so.” Bucky wants to ask this man if it’s strange for him to address someone as basically by his own name. Bucky wonders what it would be like, to have a servant named _Ofjames_ or _Ofbucky_. The thought almost makes him laugh. 

“Well welcome. The letter the caretakers sent about you said that this is your first posting. I hope you’ll feel at home here.” Warren steps closer to Bucky and holds out his hand for him to shake. Bucky’s eyes get wide in alarm and after a second Warren seems to realize his mistake. “Oh!” He pulls his hand back. “Dear me. Of course.” He chuckles awkwardly. “Still getting used to the rules you know.”

Bucky frowns. “Yeah. Me too.”

There’s a terrible, stretched-out silence between the two of them for a long moment. Warren’s gaze flicks to Bucky’s left sleeve and holds there in a way that, in pre-Gilead times, would’ve been considered terribly rude. Bucky clears his throat and that makes Warren snap his attention back to Bucky’s face. “Sorry,” he blurts, looking flustered. “I uh, they didn’t mention that you were… disabled.”

Bucky wants to snort. _Disabled_. He doesn’t feel like the word should apply to himself. It’s not as if he _lost_ the arm after all; it was _taken_ from him. In the end he shrugs, as it seems Commander Warren isn’t going to say anything else. “I get along alright,” he says. “Don’t really need it these days.” And isn’t that the saddest fact? He really doesn’t need it. Not for what he’s supposed to be here for. They could hack all four of his limbs off and he’d still be fertile. A stump, but fertile. Bucky swallows, feeling nauseous at his morbid train of thought. “I uh, I just need some towels,” he says quietly, then turns to leave the room.

“I’ll make sure you get them,” Warren calls out from behind. “And our Martha’s name is Fiona. She’ll come and fetch you for dinner.”

Bucky nods, not turning back around but saying, “Thanks,” before he heads back towards the basement. 

.oOo.

Bucky hits heat a week and a half after he arrives at the Putnams’ house. It’s long enough for him to have fallen into a boring routine of eating, sleeping, and doing the daily shopping, but not nearly enough time to get himself acquainted with the man with whom he’ll be sleeping. Commander Warren and he only manage to cross paths a handful of times before the night comes when Bucky is presenting on the Putnams’ marriage bed and squeezing his eyes shut as he feels Carols’ cold hand clasp around his wrist, as he feels Warren easing his red pants down over his hips. _Oh god_ , he thinks as he feels Carol’s nails dig punishingly into his wrist and Warren’s cock enters him, _please let this be over quickly._


	15. True Believers

“Stupid fucking motherfuckers,” Bucky grumbles under his breath as he pushes past the door of the campus bookstore and out onto the street. He’s got his backpack slung over his shoulder and his last paycheck clutched tightly in his fist. It’ll be crumpled all to hell but that’s the least of his worries. Bucky is furious and feels on the verge of tears. He’ll be damned if he lets anybody see him cry in public though. He’s not some weak omega, despite what his (former) employers obviously think. 

He’s been fired ( _“Let go,”_ his shift manager had awkwardly corrected only minutes ago). Stanley hadn’t ever been Bucky’s favorite person to work under, but he’d at least managed to seem properly embarrassed at having to fire Bucky just for being omega. “I’m really sorry James,” he’d mumbled sheepishly. “But it’s the law now. You can’t work here anymore.” 

Bucky had been too angry, and frankly too embarrassed (he’d been fired right in front of all of his non-omega coworkers) to say anything much more than, “This is bullshit!” before storming out. But now as he’s walking down the street in the direction of the bank, he scolds himself for not saying any of the myriad of vengeful things he could have. He should have said something, _anything_ , about how messed up it was that not only had this law been passed, but that nobody was standing up against it. He should have rallied against his boss, but instead he’d just stood there, mortified and shell-shocked at the news that not only was he no longer allowed to attend NYU, but that he apparently wasn’t allowed to hold a job anymore. 

Bucky grumbles some more under his breath, thinking about the bitch-fest he and his sisters are going to enjoy when he gets home and they turn on the state news channel to watch the latest bullshit that’s occurred. He turns the street corner and (luckily) looks up just in time to avoid running smack into someone. His pulse picks up when he sees that it’s a Guardian of the Faith. “Uh… excuse me,” Bucky mumbles, already averting his eyes and moving to step around the guy.

“Hold on there.” The man’s hand shoots out and grips Bucky’s upper arm.

The move makes Bucky gasp and jerk back on instinct. “What the fuck?! Don’t touch me,” he spits. 

“I _said_ hold on a minute.” The guardian doesn’t seem deterred by Bucky’s attitude. In fact, he shoves Bucky up against the brick wall of the nearest building. “What are you doing out and about so late?” he asks. “Are you by yourself?”

Bucky sneers. “None of your business. Let me go.”

“I don’t think so.” The guardian does at least take his hand off Bucky’s shoulder. But he’s posturing—standing in such a way as to make it clear that Bucky is not free to leave. “Omegas can’t be out after dark on their own. What’s your name?”

“Well what the hell _can_ we do anymore?” Bucky snaps. “Can’t go school, can’t fucking earn a paycheck.” 

“Watch your mouth,” the guy says. He grabs a walkie talkie from his belt and speaks into it. “I’ve got a citizen out here. Unaccompanied omega.” The static of the radio channel sounds, and then a voice floats back and says, 

_“Roger. We’re bringing all those into the station.”_

“Okay.”

“Hey! Wait a minute. You can’t do that,” Bucky growls. “I haven’t done anything wrong!”

The guardian doesn’t look moved. He regards Bucky disdainfully. “You’re going to have to come with me. Who’s your alpha? We can have them pick you up.”

“Alpha? I don’t _have_ an alpha. I’m only nineteen years old!” 

This doesn’t seem to make a difference to the other man. He merely reaches to take Bucky’s arm again. Bucky jerks himself back again and it makes the Guardian frown and tense up. For a split-second Bucky is sure that he’s going to get hit, but before the other man can so much as raise his hand, another voice is floating around the corner, and then there’s a woman at Bucky’s side. 

“I’m sorry, is there a problem here?”

She’s alpha, that much Bucky knows straight off. She’s scenting like pissed-off, possessive alpha, and it makes the Guardian take an instinctual step back. Bucky flinches when he feels the woman’s hand come up to the back of his neck, but given the fact that she’s got him in a _Hold_ , there isn’t much he can do about it. He feels his body relax into her despite himself. “Fuck,” he mutters. He glances over at her, sure that he looks mad. “What the hell are you doing?” he hisses.

She just glares at him. “Shut up.” She ignores him then, turning her attention to the Guardian, who by now has regained his domineering posture. He even has his hand on the butt of his gun. “What is the meaning of this?” the woman asks tersely. “Why are you harassing my boyfriend?”

The guardian shifts restlessly. “This is your omega?”

Bucky can feel the woman bristle at the Guardian’s rude language, but she nods tersely. “He’s my boyfriend, yes. _Why_ are you harassing him?”

“Well ma’am, it’s not permitted for them to just be walking the streets at night.”

She snorts, and it makes Bucky shift his eyes over to get a glimpse of her. She’s pretty, he thinks; has strawberry blonde hair and a polished look to her. She also looks royally pissed-off. If she’s pretending, she’s doing a damned-good job of it. “It’s barely six o’clock,” she points out. “He’s not ‘walking the streets’, he’s headed home.” She grabs Bucky’s left hand and holds it up, showing the crumpled paycheck in it. “He just got off from work. What was he supposed to do?”

The Guardian’s eyes darken at her tone. “It’s your job to take care of that. Now you’re going to escort him home I assume?”

The woman scoffs. “I have things to do. He’s not a moron; he can find his own way home.”

“If you leave him then I’ll have no choice but to escort him to the station.”

“Oh my god, this is ridiculous!”

The Guardian points warningly at Bucky for having spoken. “Watch your mouth, kid. That’s the Lord’s name you’re taking in vain.”

Bucky wants to roll his eyes. He just _barely_ holds himself back from doing so. The alpha woman’s warning squeeze at the back of his neck kind of helps. “Fine,” he grits out. “Sorry.”

“Hmph.” The Guardian looks back at the woman, ignoring Bucky. “So what’s it going to be?”

There’s a long, tense silence where both of them just stare each other down. The warring scents of them make Bucky wrinkle his nose in displeasure. “She’ll take me home!” he says, just wanting to escape the situation. It’s making his skin crawl to be sandwiched between these two posturing alphas, and he’s nervous as fuck being cornered by an armed Guardian of the Faith. That’s not something that can lead to anything good.

“That true?” the man asks her.

“Ugh, yes. Fine. I’m taking him home.” Her hand leaves Bucky’s neck and reaches down to take his hand instead. “Happy?”

The Guardian doesn’t respond, just takes a step back and nods brusquely. “Make sure he knows the rules from now on,” he says. “It’s our responsibility to take care of them you know. You can be held accountable if he gets hurt.”

Bucky huffs, about to say something snotty to that, but the woman tugs him away by the hand before he can open his mouth. “Come on honey,” she says. “Let’s get you home.”

They walk down the street, eventually turning the corner at the next block. As soon as they’re out of sight of the Guardian Bucky is yanking his hand back. “Who are you?” he says.

The woman looks unimpressed. “What? No thank you?”

“I didn’t need your help.”

“Sure didn’t seem that way to me.”

Bucky presses his lips together, mad that he can’t really argue that point. “Those freaks make up new restrictions every day. I can’t keep up with it.”

At this, the woman’s features seem to soften. She nods sympathetically and gestures for Bucky to walk alongside her. Bucky follows along, but he makes sure to keep far enough away that she can’t put her hands on him again. “I’m Pepper,” she offers. “I was just leaving work when I saw him corner you. I’m sorry if I overstepped but I’ve got a boyfriend who’s been roughed up by those thugs already.”

Bucky huffs. “I thought I was your boyfriend?”

She smiles wryly at him. “You’re not my type.”

“What’s your type then?” 

Pepper raises her eyebrow. “Older and smarter than you, that’s for sure.” They reach the corner of the next block and she reaches to push the button for the crosswalk. There aren’t many people on the street and it’s an odd sight for New York. Ever since the guardians started patrolling, people seem afraid to go out. “So do you need help getting home?” she asks him.

Bucky feels insulted by the question but he knows she means no harm. So he says, “I was gonna try and make it to the bank before closing, but now I think it might be too late.”

“Yeah.” She shoots him a pitying look and says, “I heard on the news that they’re freezing you guys’ accounts anyhow.”

“What?!” Bucky stops dead in his tracks. “Are you kidding me?”

“I’m afraid not.” Pepper looks genuinely peeved. “My boyfriend Tony is, uh… a pretty rich guy. He had to sign his accounts over to me earlier today so that we could keep his business up and running.”

“Oh my god. This is ridiculous.” The light for the crosswalk changes, and they both step out into the street. “What the actual hell.”

“I know, I know.” Pepper sighs and looks over to him. “It’s surreal. Now um, where do you want me to take you? Do you live around here?”

Bucky frowns. “No. My parents’ place is in Brooklyn.”

“Oh. That’s not close.”

“Sorry. You don’t have to take me. I can make it on my own…”

Pepper seems displeased at that. “You want to take the risk of one of those goons finding you?”

“Well… no.”

She nods. “Come on, let’s get a cab.”

Bucky feels flustered, but he doesn’t broker an argument. 

.oOo.

Bucky stands in front of Steve’s desk and stares at him. This is not what he imagined he’d been called in here for. He’d kind of gotten his hopes up that Steve would say he could start back up with reading in the evenings. But that’s not it. “You’re leaving?” Bucky repeats dumbly, already feeling inordinately upset at the idea. “And _everyone’s_ going with you?”

Steve winces. “Not everyone. Sharon’s staying behind.”

“And _Rollins_ ,” Bucky points out. He steps closer to Steve’s desk. It’s only been a couple of days since his heat ended, and though it annoys him to admit it, he’s still a little emotionally vulnerable. Hearing the news that the alpha he’s just spent his heat with is up and leaving makes him more anxious than he’d like to think about. So Bucky tries to project an air of annoyance rather than the distress he feels. “What the heck am I supposed to do?” he asks peevishly. “Sharon doesn’t even like me and Rollins is seriously creepy!”

Steve huffs. “Sharon likes you.”

“Yeah, sure.” Bucky leans against Steve’s desk. “If you’re going to New York I want to go.”

“What?” Steve shakes his head. “No Bucky you can’t.”

“But I’m from there.”

“I’m sorry. But this is…” At Bucky’s raised eyebrow Steve reluctantly admits, “It’s Shield business Bucky. You can’t come.”

“Oh.” Bucky instantly thinks of about a dozen questions he wants to ask, but he holds his tongue. Steve has made it clear that he isn’t willing to risk Bucky’s safety by divulging Shield secrets to him. As frustrating as that is, Bucky thinks it’s sweet that Steve thinks he’s protecting him. “Well what am I supposed to do with all of you gone?” he asks again. He sounds a little bit like a petulant child but he can’t help it; he’s going to be all alone with the household Eye looming over his shoulder, and with no one but Sharon to watch his six. Bucky knows he won’t feel safe until Steve returns. 

Steve offers him another apologetic look. “Just keep to yourself. Don’t make trouble. Do the shopping Sharon needs and maybe help her with the other household chores since Sam and Nat will be gone.”

Bucky huffs. He’s a domestic servant. That’s what he’s been reduced to. A one-armed, domestic servant. _Shut up_ , his brain tells him. _This should be a relief for you. It’s an easy life, and it’s better than being dead, or in the colonies, or at the Putnam’s or at the red center_. Still, Bucky huffs and nods at Steve. And since he knows he won’t be allowed to stick around in the office and read (thanks a lot, Rollins), he leaves to head back up to his room. 

Given that his heat is over, Steve doesn’t come to see him that night. And the next morning when Bucky comes down for breakfast, Steve is gone.

.oOo.

The first day without Steve is pretty okay. Bucky can tell that Sharon is annoyed at all the work that’s fallen on her shoulders, so he asks her what he can do to help and she doesn’t hesitate to heft a huge basket of laundry at him. In a strange way Bucky appreciates it. Not many people throw stuff at the guy with one arm. Not many people expect him to be able to do anything. He takes the laundry basket without complaint and goes down to the basement to get it done.

The second day without Steve is a little more eventful. In the morning Bucky goes out to salt the driveway since they’re likely to get snow that night, and when he’s done Sharon seems grateful and shows him how she makes the bread. Bucky’s just finished learning that when he walks out past Steve’s office and sees that the door is open a crack. He frowns, stepping closer to peek through the crack. His heart catches in his throat when he sees that Rollins is inside.

He’s seated in Steve’s desk chair, scooted back far enough to be bent over and rooting through the drawers. Bucky watches him with a sense of trepidation as he shuffles through Steve’s papers, pulling some out to read more closely before stuffing them back into place. When it seems that he’s found nothing noteworthy he just grunts in frustration and sits up to reach for the computer mouse, apparently ready to start snooping through Steve’s computer as well. 

Bucky watches for another long moment before stepping away from the door and turning to head back to Sharon. He has to tell her about this. She might have a way to contact Steve and let him know. “Hey,” he says quietly once he’s come into the kitchen. She’s oiling the two balls of dough they made earlier and covering them with linen cloths. “Rollins is in Steve’s office. He’s looking at all his papers and on his computer.”

Sharon’s face rapidly deteriorates into a look of concern. “Shit.”

“Is he going to find anything?”

“I don’t think so,” Sharon says lowly. “We’re pretty good about hiding that stuff.”

Bucky raises an eyebrow. “‘We’?”

“Well we all do it,” Sharon snaps. “We’re not just household servants you know. We have a bigger purpose than this shit.”

Bucky frowns, feeling miffed even though he knows Sharon wasn’t trying to insult him. “Yeah, lucky you,” he grumbles.

“Oh…” She at least seems embarrassed at that. “I wasn’t trying to say… that is, I’m sorry—”

Bucky raises his hand to shut her up. “No it’s okay,” he says. “It’s true. We all know I’m only here for one thing.”

Sharon frowns heavily, but she doesn’t say anything more. She just goes over to the counter and grabs the booklet that holds all of the household shopping tokens. She flips through it and rips out a few, then hands them over to Bucky. “He won’t find anything,” she tells him seriously. “So don’t worry about it.”

Bucky hums, not sure if he’ll be able to make himself believer her. But he does take the tokens and promise to get the shopping done right away. It’s not as if he has anything more meaningful to do.

.oOo.

Ofjohn meets him at the corner like always, and the two of them set out with their tokens and their canvas bags. The walk from their neighborhood to the center of town seems to take longer than usual. Bucky’s guts are chewing themselves up with nerves at the memory of seeing Rollins going through Steve’s office. To take his mind off it he starts talking about _before_ with Ofjohn.

“So you don’t mind it?” Bucky says, somewhat astounded now that Ofjohn has made it more than clear that he’s a True Believer. “Not being able to work? Not having a purpose in life?”

Ofjohn scoffs, looking affronted. “What are you talking about? We have the _most_ important job in life.”

Bucky wants to snort but somehow holds it back. “You mean having babies.”

“We’re saving the human race,” Ofjohn insists. “We’re saving our country.”

“If you say so.”

At that, Ofjohn stops walking entirely. He glares at Bucky. “Look: I wasn’t exactly nobody before. I had a life, a job. I worked in a bank. Made good money too.”

Bucky raises his eyebrows. “So how can you be okay with this?” 

“People were _dying_ ,” Ofjohn says, looking at Bucky like he’s stupid. “Nobody was having babies. Nobody could. Nobody _can_. We’re the only ones who can. People before… they didn’t believe in anything and yet they wanted things to change. But _they_ weren’t willing to change. _They_ didn’t listen to God.”

“And _they_ don’t give us a choice,” Bucky argues. 

But Ofjohn just shrugs as if that’s of little consequence. “What did you do? Before?”

“I was a student.”

“Studying what?”

“Engineering.” Bucky holds up his chin. “Robotics.”

Ofjohn snorts. “Yeah? Well with the way things were going we weren’t going to need bankers or engineers much longer. Certainly not pediatricians or school teachers. Nobody. was. having. children.” He throws up his hands, shopping bag swinging as he starts walking again. “You may not agree with the methods, but the liberals and the secularists weren’t getting anything done. We were dying out.” He shoots Bucky a haughty look. “And now we’re not.”

“Oh really?”

“Yep.” Ofjohn’s lips quirk smugly. “I’m pregnant.”

Bucky’s eyes widen slightly, he knows they must. Then he looks down. “Oh. Congratulations. I guess.”

“And how long before you are too, huh?” Ofjohn says. “Another baby that never would’ve existed, _before_. You know I heard on the news yesterday that Gilead is the only country in _the world_ with a positive birthrate. How long do you think until other countries realize that we’ve got it right? Until they start to implement the same policies?”

Bucky swallows, feeling sick at the thought. He’s never given much thought to the world beyond Gilead. Not in the past couple of years at least. In the past couple of years he’s had enough shit to deal with, without thinking about the grand scheme of things. Logistically, of course, he knows that Ofjohn’s right; nobody _was_ having babies. The fertility crisis had rendered so many infertile that the small amount of people left just couldn’t make up the difference. Not with most people choosing to have only one or two children, and the rest of them (people like Bucky) using birth control to avoid reproducing altogether. Still, Ofjohn’s perspective on the issue rankles Bucky’s nerve.

“Maybe humanity’s not worth saving,” he mutters darkly. “If this is the way we have to go about it.”

If Ofjohn takes serious issue with what he’s said, he keeps it to himself. They wind up not talking at all for the remainder of their trip to the market. 

-

Bucky gets steak from the deli counter and then heads over to meet back up with Ofjohn in the produce section, where they both pick up lettuce and peppers and—surprisingly—oranges. “Wow,” Ofjohn comments, pleased. “The fighting in Florida must’ve died down if we’re getting oranges again. Praise be.”

Bucky rolls his eyes where Ofjohn can’t see. “Yeah, praise be.”

They use up their tokens and leave with their filled shopping bags. Bucky listens to OfJohn complain about how it’s not fair that Bucky can acquire the best cuts of steak just because he has a higher-ranking commander. Bucky doesn’t say anything back of course. He kind of agrees that it isn’t fair, but he isn’t going to complain about the fact that he gets to enjoy a good ribeye once a week. 

When they reach the neighborhood and Ofjohn’s house is in sight, one of the ever-ominous black vans goes screeching by. Bucky feels his heart leap into his throat at the sight of it. “What the hell?” he says. Shockingly, the van pulls into the Halston’s driveway. Two guardians exit the van and go into the house without knocking, and not a minute later they’re exiting again, this time with Commander John Halston between them. They shove him unceremoniously into the black van and slam the door shut. Bucky looks over to Ofjohn in alarm. “What?” he astounds.

Surprisingly, Ofjohn doesn’t look one bit perturbed. He seems… smug. As Bucky stares, the other vessel turns to look at him. “What?” he says loftily. “He was a heretic. I reported him.”

Bucky looks at him in horror. “ _What_?”

Ofjohn shrugs. “One night after he was done fucking me. I went snooping around his bedroom. Do you know what I found?”

Bucky is sure he doesn’t want to know. “What?” he asks.

“A _menorah_.” Ofjohn says it with a look of disgust on his face. “And all of this other Jewish paraphernalia.”

“Paraphernalia?!” Bucky feels sick at what he’s hearing. “You turned him in for being Jewish?”

Ofjohn’s eyes shoot over to Bucky. “You obviously wouldn’t care. You’re not a True Believer, Ofsteven.”

That’s it. Bucky feels contempt boil up in him. He shakes his head in disgust. _My name_ ,” he snaps, “is _Bucky_. And I hate to break it to you _Ofjohn_ , but they don’t care what you believe in. They kidnapped you, and they’re raping you, the same as they’re fucking doing to me. They don’t give a flying fuck that you’re a True Believer.”

“Hhmph.” If it bothers the other man to hear this, he doesn’t say so. He just keeps heading towards the gate of his commander’s house. The van that the Guardians shoved Commander Halston into pulls back out of the driveway and heads down the street, windows darkened so that nothing inside can be seen. 

Bucky doesn’t know whether to be glad about that or not. He looks over at Ofjohn. “You’re proud of yourself?” he asks numbly. 

“Of course. And now I’ll be reassigned to another commander. Somebody who _deserves_ a baby.” Ofjohn opens the gate and goes through, not sparing another glance backwards at Bucky.

Bucky’s left alone on the sidewalk feeling cold and frankly a little ill at what’s just happened right in front of him. He walks slowly down the sidewalk, mind racing with thoughts of what’s going to happen to Commander Halston now. He could be put to death; hanged from one of the tall cement walls that’ve been erected around the city for the express purpose of displaying the bodies of traitors. Bucky and Ofjohn walk by two such walls every day on their way to and from the market. Bucky is fairly sure that they’ll string Commander Halston up on one of them. Because it’s not as if he got caught fornicating with a Martha, or abusing some vessel outside of heat. Those crimes can be forgiven, after all. The regime cares more about it’s higher-ranking officials than it does about simple acts of “impropriety.” But being Jewish? Not only not being a True Believer but not holding with the Faith at all? Bucky’s pretty sure they kill anybody for that, even if they have a working womb.

He winds up walking right by Steve’s house without even noticing he’s passed it, and when he does notice he can’t bring himself to turn back around. He just keeps on walking, going first past the checkpoint at the end of the neighborhood (by some miracle the Guardian posted there doesn’t stop him), then the next block, and the next, and the next. He keeps going until he reaches a checkpoint where the guardians actually stop him, and when they ask him what he’s doing he refuses to tell them. When they ask him where he’s posted so that they can return him to “where he belongs,” he refuses to tell them. 

For his insolence, Bucky winds up shoved into the back of a black van as well. 

-

“You’re all idiots,” the caretaker at the gate tells the guardians when they bring Bucky to the red center. “You can scan them you know. We red-tag them _for a reason_.”

“What?” the Guardian says stupidly. Bucky rolls his eyes and so does the caretaker.

“The damned tags hold all their information, _including_ where they’re posted.” The caretaker—a woman whom Bucky has never seen before (she must be new since he left the red center)—grabs Bucky from the Guardian holding him and brings her phone up to his ear. She scans the metal band that wraps around the upper cartilage of his ear and looks back down at the screen of her phone. “Rogers,” she says after a beat. “Steven G.” She looks back up to the Guardian sharply. “119 Hillcrest Avenue. You think you can manage to remember that?”

The Guardian’s lips thin like he’s working hard to hold back a mean retort. In the end he just nods tightly. “Yes ma’am,” he grunts, then he’s grabbing Bucky by the arm again and shoving him back into the van for transport. Bucky goes willingly. He’s just glad he’s not going to have to stay at the red center overnight.

.oOo.

Rollins meets them at the door when they arrive. They sky is just beginning to turn dark. “Where the hell have you been?” he spits at Bucky. Bucky opens his mouth to say something but before he can Rollins is grabbing him by the scruff of his shirt and yanking him in through the front door. The other Guardian lets him go, apparently not concerned for Bucky’s welfare now that he’s delivered him back to his assigned residence. The door to the foyer shuts with an ominous ‘thud’, and before he can even think to protect himself, Bucky is being backhanded across the face. He goes down only because he wasn’t expecting it. Rollins, however, is quick to haul him up from the floor. “Missing for hours?! We had NO IDEA where you were or what happened!”

“Jesus!” Bucky grunts as he’s shoved towards the stair case. Rollins growls at his curse and shoves him up the stairs. It’s a painful and long process since Rollins isn’t gentle about it and Bucky’s room is all the way on the house’s third floor. By the time they get up there the man has shocked him three times with his taser. Bucky pretty much throws himself into his room to put space between them and get it to stop. “Cut it out!” he yells. “You trying to kill me?”

Rollins sneers. “Don’t act all fragile. You’ve obviously taken worse.” He nods meaningfully at Bucky’s left sleeve.

Bucky just frowns. “Yeah well the last time somebody went to town on me with one of those things, I was pregnant,” he spits. Rollins pales and that makes Bucky give a nasty smirk. It’s not as if he thinks he’s pregnant, but it’s nice to see the other man look sick at the possibility. “You’d better just leave me alone,”’ he says, going to sit on his bed. In all honesty he’s tired and in pain now, but he tries not to let it show.

Rollins backs up towards the door, still looking pissed. He points the baton warningly in Bucky’s direction. “You’ll be sorry if you try sneaking off like that again. Watch yourself, Ofsteven.” With that he turns and heads out, not bothering to shut the door.

Bucky watches him leave with a scowl on his face. “That’s not my name,” he says bitterly, but there’s no one there to hear.


	16. Jezebel's, part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> chapter tags/warnings: references to coerced sex

Somehow, Bucky doesn’t know how, Rollins locates a key that can lock the door to Bucky’s room. Bucky winds up confined there for three days. He sits on the window bench and stares out the window at the garage and gardens, and the only respite he gets is when Sharon brings his meals up to him three times a day. 

“Sorry,” she tells him, and it’s the most sympathetic he’s ever heard her. “Steve should be home soon.”

Bucky damn well hopes so. Life as a vessel isn’t exactly exciting, but he’s going to go out of his mind if he has to spend much longer locked in his tiny room.

-

They get a foot of snow overnight, and the next day Steve arrives home. Bucky sees the SUV pull into the drive and his heart leaps in his chest as he watches Sam, Clint, Natasha and finally Steve exit the vehicle. They all look tired and somber-faced as they trudge through the new snow into the house. It makes Bucky wonder what they were doing in New York. 

He remains seated at the window bench. It’s hard to hear much from all the way up on the third floor of the house, but when Steve starts yelling Bucky’s able to make it out. A long moment later he hears footsteps thumping up the stairs. They’re heavy footsteps, fast and angry-sounding; heavy enough that Bucky knows it has to be either Steve or Rollins coming up. He swallows. The door to the room clicks as it’s unlocked from the other side, and then it’s swinging open. Bucky is greeted by the sight of Steve, Rollins’ key in hand, looking harried. His eyes land on Bucky, and it only takes a second for his features to bleed into sorrow, then outrage. Bucky doesn’t have to wonder why. He knows he’s sporting a shiner from when Rollins backhanded him.

“Oh _Bucky_ —"

“I’m fine,” Bucky is instantly saying.

“He hit you.”

“Well,” Bucky shrugs. “I did kind of run away.”

Steve looks hurt. “Why?”

“I didn’t plan it,” Bucky mumbles. “S’just… something happened. Ofjohn reported his Commander. They took him away in a van right in front of us.”

“Oh Bucky, I’m sorry.”

“So I just… kept walking. I wasn’t running away from you, I swear. I didn’t have a plan of where I was going. I just wanted to think.” Bucky doesn’t know exactly why he’s explaining himself to Steve, why he’s apologizing. He knows he shouldn’t be worried about Steve’s feelings. Steve doesn’t own him. “They brought me back,” he says, forcing himself to stop ruminating. “Rollins was pissed.”

Steve’s face darkens. “I’m going to have it out with him. I don’t want him in this house.”

“Did you talk to Sharon yet?”

Steve frowns. “No. Why?”

“He was going through your stuff, searching your office.”

Steve huffs, but he doesn’t seem overly-surprised. He comes over to Bucky and sits next to him on the window bench. “I know he’s an Eye, Buck,” he says, attention already fixed on Bucky’s face. He reaches forward and touches gently at the bruised skin of his cheek. Bucky winces and Steve growls. “I expected snooping but not this. He doesn’t have the right to hurt you.”

“Steve, I’ll be fine.” Bucky reaches up and wraps his fingers around Steve’s wrist. “Promise.”

Steve looks at him tenderly then, and Bucky can’t help it; he thinks that Steve looks like he’d like to kiss him. Something a little like loneliness and a lot like desire wells up in Bucky at that, and he leans closer to Steve. His lips touch his in the briefest of kisses, and then Bucky feels Steve’s hand move from his cheek to the back of his neck. He’s kissing Bucky back now, using his hold on his neck to pull him closer. Bucky makes a soft noise of satisfaction into it because, _oh_ , is it good.

Steve kisses gently, and intimately, and deliberately. Suddenly Bucky’s back in Steve’s bedroom, remembering all of the tender things he’d done to him with just his mouth, during those few nights of Bucky’s heat. Steve’s tongue slips out, just barely tracing at the seam of Bucky’s lips, and that does it for Bucky. He groans and shifts forward, trying to get closer, get in Steve’s space and feel his body up against his. It feels so good to have Steve’s strong, hard body against his, to wrap himself up in his smell…

“Bucky, wait. We should stop.”

Steve’s hands are on his shoulders, holding him back and away. Bucky opens his eyes in disappointment. “Why?” he asks, sounding plaintive even to his own ears. He tries to read on Steve’s face what’s wrong, but all he sees there is desire, and maybe some indecipherable look of sadness, too. “What’s wrong?” Bucky asks. He tries to move in again but Steve turns his head minutely. He looks pained.

“It’s forbidden, Bucky.”

Bucky snorts. “ _‘Forbidden’_. Everything’s ‘forbidden’. You can touch me Steve. I want you to.”

“I would. You know I would…”

“Then why?”

Steve frowns. “Rollins. I can’t risk him seeing.”

 _Oh_. Now Bucky frowns too. “Isn’t there anything you can do to get rid of him?” he asks. “I mean you are a Commander.” _Even if just a fake one_.

But Steve is shaking his head. “He’s my assigned security. Sent here by people more important than me. It’d look too suspicious if I fired him.”

Bucky huffs. “Great.”

Steve seems to share Bucky’s frustration, if his expression is anything to go by. But he shakes it off. “Here,” he says, reaching into his coat pocket and pulling something out. It’s an envelope, and he hands it to Bucky. “I made some inquiries before we left for the trip. Had one of my contacts in Canada do some digging. He was able to get this to me while we were in New York.”

“Digging?” Bucky asks, confused. He rips open the envelope. Inside is a folded letter and… Bucky’s heart catches. “Oh my god.” There’s a picture of his mom and sisters standing in front of a house he doesn’t recognize. “Oh,” he breathes, feeling tears flood to the corners of his eyes. “It’s them.”

“Yeah.”

“Oh, they look… happy.” They do. They’re all smiling. They look almost exactly the same, though Becca’s visibly aged and Bucky’s mom has cut her hair shorter. “This must be where they’re living,” he says. He looks up at Steve, eyes shining. “ _Thank you_.”

Steve smiles. “You’re welcome.”

“Are they still in Toronto?” Bucky asks, already looking back down at the picture. He holds it like it’s something precious; like it might shatter if he isn’t careful.

“Read the letter.”

Bucky nods. He puts the photo back in the envelope and his fingers shake slightly as he unfolds the piece of paper. Steve is getting up and closing the door to the bedroom, and Bucky realizes that he’s making sure Rollins doesn’t appear and see Bucky reading. He gulps and redirects his eyes to the page. He instantly recognizes the loopy scrawl as his mother’s handwriting.

 _Bucky_ , it says

_A man at the refugee center got in contact with us and told us you were alive. God we hope that’s true. He said he could get a letter to you. He said you were living with a man near Washington D.C. I hope you get this. Your sisters and I are so happy you’re okay! We thought you were dead. When we didn’t hear from you after that first letter we thought you had been killed in the fighting. Sweetheart, it is so wonderful to know that you’re okay!_

_We’re still living in Toronto. Becca and I share an apartment now. I got a job at the local library and she’s working at the refugee center now. Clair is living on campus at the University of Toronto and Trudy has gotten married! She lives just outside the city with her husband. He’s a good man._

_Sweetie not a day has gone by where I haven’t thought of you and prayed we’d find you. Now that I know you’re alive, it kills me to think of what you may be going through down there with those people, but I try to stay positive. I don’t know much about what’s going on with you except for that the man we met said you’re living in a nice man’s house—someone who works for the resistance. I hope you’re not fighting still. Please stay safe! If you can send a letter back to us we would love to hear from you. Hopefully one day you’ll be able to join us up here. We’ll do anything we can to help you escape. Let us know if there is anything we can do._

_I love you Bucky,_

_Stay safe._

_Love, Mom, Becca, Trudy and Clair._

When he’s done reading the letter Bucky’s eyes linger on the page as if he expects more words to appear. Before he can stop it, one of the tears welling in his eyes falls. It hits the page just next to Clair’s name. “Fuck,” he sniffles, hastily wiping it away before the ink can smear. He rereads the letter twice before he’s able to make himself fold it back up. He slips it into the envelope with the same reverence as he’d done with the picture. He looks at Steve then, gratitude swelling in him like a living thing. “You did this,” he nearly whispers. “You did this for me.”

Steve smiles softly. “You asked. I told you’d I’d try.”

“ _Steve_ ,” Bucky astounds. “I’ll _never_ be able to repay you for this. You have no idea what this means.” He throws himself into Steve’s arms, not giving a damn about what Steve thinks of it. He buries his nose in Steve’s neck and kisses the skin there, tears finally falling despite his best efforts. “Thank you,” he says, and just keeps saying. “Thank you, thank you.”

Against him, Steve’s chest moves with a sigh. He squeezes Bucky tightly and pats his back, telling him gently, “You’re welcome, Bucky.”

.oOo.

The next week, Steve calls Bucky into his office one evening. Bucky closes the door behind himself without having to be asked. Steve is on one of the couches instead of behind his desk, and he gestures for Bucky to come join him. By now, Bucky’s comfortable enough around Steve that his first inclination is to take a seat on the same couch as him, instead of on the opposing one. Steve seems pleased at his choice. 

So it’s a bit of a mystery to Bucky why he’s scenting nervous. He tilts his head and asks, “What’s wrong? Are you leaving again?”

“What? Oh, no.” Steve places a hand on Bucky’s thigh. “No Buck, it’s something else. I need to ask a favor of you.”

It’s not fair to Steve, but Bucky’s mind instantly shoots to a memory of being in a very similar situation with Commander Warren: a couch, a hand on his thigh, and a requested favor. It’d been the first time Warren had made forbidden advances towards Bucky. Bucky gulps and forces the bad memory away. “What?” he asks Steve. 

Steve’s hand leaves his leg, and that makes Bucky relax. Internally, he scolds himself for ever entertaining the idea that Steve could be like that. Now Steve’s got his hands to himself. He’s leaning back against the armrest of the couch and observing Bucky carefully as he explains, “I have to do something for Shield. A mission.”

Bucky stares. “…Okay.” 

“I need you to come with me.”

This is _not_ what Bucky’d been expecting to hear. He blinks at Steve once, twice. “But you said I couldn’t know about Shield. You said it was dangerous.”

This makes Steve’s eyes get tight with guilt at the edges. “Yeah,” he admits. “It is. But I need to get into a place to retrieve a package, and I can’t do it alone. I need you with me for it to work.”

“But what can I do?” Bucky asks again. “I’m just, well, _you know_.” He shrugs, indicating himself—his one arm, his red clothing. He doesn’t _want_ to call himself useless, but, well… _‘if the shoe fits’_ , and all that. “How am I supposed help?”

“The place I need to get into is in D.C. It’s an old hotel that Commanders and other higher-ups use as a sort of, _escape_.”

Bucky’s eyebrows raise, he can’t help it. “‘Escape’?” 

Steve blushes, eyes falling to his lap. “Uh yeah. A sort of nightclub.”

“I thought places like that were forbidden?”

“They are.” Steve peeks up. “But this place is kind of a known secret, if you know what I mean. It’s the… exception.”

Bucky frowns. “Uh-huh.” Somehow he’s not surprised that the Commanders have found a way to excluded themselves from their own rules of purity. He doesn’t say it to Steve, but he’s pretty sure he can imagine what sorts of things go on at this _‘nightclub’_. “So you need me because…?”

“You’ll be my cover. It’s too suspicious for me to go alone, especially since I’m not usually seen in those… _circles_. I need an omega on my arm when I walk in. To make it look real.”

“You need arm candy,” Bucky clarifies. He isn’t trying to embarrass Steve, but it’s clear from the other man’s expression that he accomplishes it all the same.

“I’m sorry,” he says, looking abashed. “But you’re my only option. I can’t use Clint. Too many people know him as my employee and—”

“I get it. I’ll help.”

Steve’s eyes shoot to him. “You will?” He looks happy, relieved, and Bucky wonders how someone who wears their heart on their sleeve as much as Steve does could ever be a spy.

“Yeah.” He says. “I told you I wanted to know more about Shield, right?”

“Bucky, this doesn’t mean that—”

“And besides,” he says, cutting Steve off. “I want to do anything I can to bring these bastards down too.” He nods in finality at him. “I’ll do it. I’ll help.”

.oOo.

Somehow, Bucky doesn’t know how, Steve gets ahold of some sexy, sleek clothes from _before_. Sharon brings them up to Bucky the night of their mission, along with some hair gel and eyeliner, and tells him to “make himself up,” before turning and heading right back down the way she came. It’s an odd thing, Bucky considers as he stares at himself in the bathroom's dressing mirror; he looks foreign to himself. He’s become so accustomed to the severe, conservative clothing they’re all forced to wear now that he hardly recognizes the man staring back at him through the reflection.

“You ready?” It’s Natasha’s voice, hissing at him from the other side of the bathroom door. She’s been tasked with smuggling him downstairs and out through the back door.

“Yeah,” Bucky says, and follows after her, shoes in his hand to keep his steps silent. Natasha pushes him out the back door and is quick to shut it, and Bucky is left standing in his socks on the freezing cold driveway. Seconds later, Clint is pulling up in the SUV. Nobody has to tell Bucky to get in. He grabs the door handle and does so. 

Steve is already in the backseat. Bucky pauses at the sight of him. He’s wearing a suit, like usual, but this one is different—more like the styles of _before_. There are no military badges on the lapels, no obnoxious designation insignia on his sleeve. It’s just Steve, looking more normal and handsome than Bucky’s ever seen him. He can’t help the smile that tugs at the edges of his mouth. “You look like you’re going to da club,” he jokes.

Steve smiles. “Sort of am.”

“Mmhm. And who’s your date?”

Steve laughs and pulls him close. “You are, handsome,” he purrs. Bucky blushes. He’s never heard Steve speak in that tone before, all flirtatious and sexy. It’s… nice. 

In the front, Clint says, “Okay you two, save it for Jezebel’s.”

 _That_ gets Bucky’s attention. He shoots Steve a disbelieving look. “ _Jezebel’s_? Really?”

“I know, I know.”

Bucky huffs, but there’s some wry sort of amusement to it. “Christ.” He bends to put his shoes on. “So what does that make me?” he asks. “The whore of Babylon?”

Clint busts out laughing.

.oOo.

It’s a funny thing, systemic corruption. It both amazes and disgusts Bucky how easy they’re able to get into D.C. with nobody stopping them. They pass at least six checkpoints on the way and not one of the guards who peeks into the car says a word about Steve and Bucky’s appearance. “Commander,” they all just say respectfully, then wave down to the next guard to tell them to let them through the barriers. Bucky sits in the backseat and fumes about how unfair life is.

 _Jezebel’s_ is housed in what used to be a hotel. A very fancy and expensive hotel, if the look of the building is anything to go by. Bucky stares up at it as Steve takes his hand and helps him down from the car. “Jeeze,” he says lowly. “So this is where the powerful and corrupt come to play, huh?”

Steve’s mouth thins in distaste. “Something like that.” He takes Bucky’s arm in his and leads him in through the shiny front doors.

Inside, Bucky’s eyes are immediately drawn in at least a dozen directions. He thinks he freezes on the spot, but he’s not sure because he’s too busy looking at everything. The hotel lobby is a large atrium and it’s filled with people who are dancing, drinking and draping themselves over one another on various pieces of furniture. Club music from _before_ pulses a heavy beat, and the lights are dimmed to match. Bucky gulps. He turns his head to look at Steve. “There are at least four topless women in this room,” he tells him, deadpan.

Steve nods. “Told you it was colorful.”

Bucky snorts, eyes already roving over the crowd again. “Colorful’s one word for it,” he mutters. Steve makes some noise of understanding and then he’s guiding Bucky further into the atrium. Bucky stares at all of the scantily-clad people they pass as they make their way over to the bar. Steve pulls out a chair for him and they both sit and soon a bartender comes round and asks Steve what he’d like to drink. Steve orders a Jack Rose and then he looks to Bucky. Bucky’s eyes widen when he realizes that he’s being offered liquor as well. “I…” he can’t help it, he giggles. It’s outrageous that he’s going to be allowed to openly drink. Although, he thinks after another quick glance around the room, that’s hardly the most outrageous thing going on here tonight. “Uh, I’ll have a mojito I guess,” he tells the bartender. It’s a surreal thing when the guy just nods as if Bucky’s done nothing wrong and moves off to fix their drinks. “Wow,” Bucky says. “You weren’t lying. This place really is something else.”

“Mmhm.” Steve’s attention is fixed on the room, not Bucky. His eyes are scanning back and forth in search of something.

 _Or someone_ , Bucky’s mind corrects. “You looking for him?” he asks, trying not to speak any louder than he must to be heard over the music. 

Steve affords him a brief nod. “Yeah.”

The bartender comes back with their drinks and Bucky takes his to sip on. He can’t help the grin that quirks his lips. It tastes just how he remembers, makes him feel nostalgic. He sips some more at it and lets himself get distracted by the sight of two barely-clothed woman grinding up on a man on a sofa. There’s no way to tell their designations from this distance, but that hardly matters. It’s easy to tell which of the three is a Commander. Bucky watches with a sick sort of fascination as the (assumedly) alpha man tells the girls what to do. Bucky can’t hear his words, but when the girls kneel in front of him and start making out with one another, it’s pretty obvious what he’s told them to do.

“Steve! So good to see you.”

Bucky shakes his attention away from the women and turns in his seat to see—his eyes widen—a familiar face. “I…” he starts, only cutting himself off when he realizes that maybe he’s not meant to speak up. “Sorry,” he says quickly. His eyes are still on the strawberry blonde woman who’s come up to them. “I just, haven’t I met you before?” He knows that he has. He can even remember where.

The woman smiles at him. “Oh my gosh. Yes! I remember. In New York, right?”

Bucky nods. “Yeah. You saved my butt.” She laughs, and Bucky grins too. He catches sight of a confused-looking Steve. “Oh. Um, she threw some Guardians off my scent, back when the regime first took over.”

Steve’s expression morphs into one of understanding. He nods. “Well, this is some small world we live in, huh?” He nods at Bucky. “Pepper this is Bucky. He’s the vessel who’s posted to my household.”

 _Pepper_ , Bucky thinks. Yeah, that’d been her name. “Hey,” he says. And just because he’s feeling outrageous, he holds out his hand for her to shake. What’s one more rule broken, right? 

She takes his hand readily. “Small world indeed. Good to see you again.” If she notices his lack of an arm (Bucky doesn’t see how she _couldn’t_ ) she doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even stare, which Bucky appreciates. “So Steve,” she says once she’s pulled her hand back and reaffixed her gaze to him. “I’ve got Tony with me tonight.”

“Oh yeah?”

She chuckles. “Yes. He’s around here somewhere.” She eyes Bucky thoughtfully, and Bucky’s smart enough to know when he’s being sized up. “Why don’t I track him down and then we can all head upstairs to have some fun?”

To Bucky’s absolute shock, Steve readily agrees.

-

Bucky is a little bit floored when he realizes that Pepper’s ‘Tony’ is Tony Stark. _The_ Tony Stark. He looks just how Bucky remembers him from magazine covers and television appearances from _before_. Hell, Bucky had been an engineering major. He’d quoted the guy in more than one paper. “Mr. Stark,” he says when he sees him. “Wow. This is crazy.”

“Isn’t it just?” Tony says blithely over his shoulder at him. 

They’re all headed for the elevators. They get up to a room that Pepper has the key card to and once they’re all inside and the door is shut, Bucky says, “ _You’re_ a vessel?”

Tony snorts. “Hardly. I'm way too famous to be sold into sexual servitude.” He tips his head at Pepper. “She’s my girlfriend.”

“Oh.” Bucky blinks. “Then what are you doing here?”

“I come for the music, stay for the booze,” he quips. Then his eyes zero-in on Bucky’s left side. “What’d they chop your arm off for?”

“ _Tony_!”

“What?! I was just asking.”

Bucky just smirks. “It’s alright Pepper, really.” She seems to take him at his word because she just shoots Tony another blithering look and then pulls Steve to the side to talk with him in hushed tones about something else. Bucky watches them for a second, before turning back to tell Tony, “I fought with the resistance. Got caught a year in. They took my arm for it.”

“Sheezus, that sucks.” Tony steps closer, eyes flicking thoughtfully up and down Bucky’s side. “Hey you mind letting me see?”

“Excuse me?”

He flaps his hand meaningfully at Bucky’s torso. “Your shirt: take it off. I want to see.”

Bucky would laugh, but he’s a just a skosh too weirded out. “Why?”

Tony huffs. “I’ve been thinking about trying to engineer some prosthetics. New stuff, real high-tech. The Faithful are kind of creating a market for it, you know?”

Bucky snorts. “Yeah, aren’t they ever.” He sighs but he does reach down and pull his shirt up. He tosses it on the bed and tries not to squirm as Tony-no-boundaries-Stark moves close and starts examining him. His fingers skim thoughtfully over the amputation site and he points out,

“You know _this_ is exactly what I want to work on. Prosthetics are so much harder for people like you who have hardly any remaining limb.”

“Gee, thanks.”

“That’s why I’m thinking cybernetics.” Tony looks at him meaningfully. “I had a couple of prototypes ready for implantation before shit got real.”

Bucky is sure he looks enthused. This _is_ the sort of thing he went nerdy for in college, after all. “Really?!”

“Sure. Had arms and legs hanging in the workshop. Very i robot-y.”

“Oh my gosh. That’s so cool.”

“Yeah. I bet I could fit you with one.” He bends in close to start poking at Bucky’s body again. “Yeah you’d actually be a perfect candidate.”

“Candidate?” This from Steve, whose attention has finally returned to them now that he’s noticed Bucky’s half-dressed state. “Candidate for what?”

Bucky looks hopefully over at Steve and Pepper. “He says he could give me a prosthesis.”

“Cybernetic implant,” Tony corrects. “It’d be major surgery, and hugely experimental. Plus,” he glances at Steve, “not sure how your Commander would explain that one to the brass.”

Steve frowns. “He’s right Buck,” he says. He looks apologetically at him. “It’d be hard to arrange. No point asking for permission.”

“They’d never allow it,” Bucky supplies.

“No. They wouldn’t.”

Bucky sighs, trying not to let the disappointment well up too hard at the realization of the plan’s impossibility. “Oh well,” he says. “Thanks anyway Tony.”

“Now just wait a minute,” Steve says, and once he’s got Bucky’s attention he lets the sternness slip out of his voice. “I wasn’t saying no Bucky. It’s not as if it’s strictly _forbidden_.”

“How could it be?” Tony says, “When nobody’s ever done it? I don’t think you guys get the picture here: I’m talking genuine _robot arm_.”

“We get it Tony,” Pepper drawls. “You don’t have to brag.”

“I wasn’t.”

“Well Bucky?” Steve says, stepping closer to where Bucky is. He’s regarding him carefully. “I don’t want to make any promises I can’t keep, but if I could find a way to arrange it, would you want to try?”

It’s too soon to cry. Tears of joy and relief will come later, Bucky’s sure. Right then all he does is smile the biggest, most uninhibited smile he’s ever smiled and says, “Fuck yes!”


	17. Jezebel's, part 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter tags/warnings: forced prostitution, reference to torture

After Tony and Pepper leave and Bucky’s left alone with Steve, he goes and throws himself into the other man’s arms. Steve holds him, allowing him the closeness. “I can’t believe it,” Bucky astounds, shit-eating grin still splitting his face despite himself. “An _arm_ Steve. An actual arm again. Tony said his designs are like the real deal. Not like anything that’s ever been used.” He laughs in disbelief. “Fuck, I wouldn’t even care if they were.” He squeezes Steve hard in his excitement. “I’m going to have an arm again!”

Steve hugs him and laughs along with him. “Okay Buck, okay. But there’s a lot we don’t know. I can’t promise this is something we’ll be able to do anytime soon.”

Bucky shakes his head. “I don’t care. I really don’t.” He pulls himself back and meets Steve’s eyes. “I just never imagined I’d have the chance.”

“I understand.”

Bucky sobers, noticing for the first time that there’s a small package on the bed. “What’s that?” he asks, pointing.

“That’s what we came here for,” Steve tells him. “Shield information.” 

“…Oh.”

“Yeah. Pepper’s my contact.” 

Well that makes a lot of sense. Bucky had been more than a little surprised, after all, when Steve had readily agreed to Pepper’s suggestion that they all get a room and “have some fun.” Now Bucky knows why. Steve goes over and grabs the envelope and makes to shove it in his pocket. “Get dressed and we can leave,” he says. “We got what we needed.”

Bucky glances at his shirt on the floor where Tony threw it, at Steve preparing to leave, but when the other man turns to beckon him towards the door Bucky makes a snap decision and steps into Steve’s space again. He puts his hand on Steve’s chest. “Wait,” he says, eyes flicking up to Steve’s. “We don’t have to leave yet.”

Steve looks surprised, though that look quickly bleeds into understanding. His posture relaxes. “We don’t?” he says. 

“We could stay.” Bucky looks over at the hotel room’s bed meaningfully. “Take advantage of the room?”

Steve exhales. “Bucky…”

“If you don’t want to, just say so,” Bucky says, cutting him off. “But don’t be afraid to say yes because you think I don’t want it. Because I do.” He runs his hand up from Steve’s chest to his neck and curls his fingers around his nape. He pulls him closer, until their lips are nearly touching. Steve’s breath is warm and it stutters between them in a sigh. “You want to?” Bucky asks hotly. “It’s not like anybody will care. Not here. We won’t get in trouble for it here.” _No Rollins to catch us here_ , he thinks but doesn’t say. When it seems that Steve has agreed without speaking, Bucky surges forward and smashes their mouths together in a hot, claiming kiss. Steve’s groan is near-instantaneous. His hands find Bucky’s hips and pull him in against his body. Again, Bucky is reminded of how good it feels to be pressed together like this, of just how sexually-frustrated living this way has made him, and a wave of arousal passes through him as he rubs against Steve like a cat. “Don’t you miss this?” he growls against his ear. “Just touching someone when you actually fucking want it?” He kisses Steve harshly, like he’s trying to prove a point. And maybe he is. Maybe Bucky just wants to _take_ , because for once he knows what he wants and it’s right here in front of him and nobody’s going to tell him he can’t have it. He wants to fuck Steve, and he tells him that just by the way that he kisses him. 

Steve, for his part, responds to it eagerly. His fingers dig into the skin of Bucky’s hips when Bucky nips at his bottom lip and slides their tongues together hotly. “Fuck,” Steve huffs, letting his hands slide back to Bucky’s ass. He grabs him and kneads him through the jeans he’s wearing, lifting him up minutely with the grip he has on him. He half-carries, half-drags Bucky to the bed and lays him on it, not wasting a second in crawling over him. “Of course I do,” he tells him, eyes skimming over Bucky’s already-bared chest. He dips down and kisses him in a trail, down towards the tops of his jeans. Bucky’s hips press up eagerly when he realizes where Steve’s headed.

“Yes,” he breathes. “Yeah, please. Fuck, Steve…” Steve undoes Bucky’s fly and yanks his pants down, underwear too. He gets Bucky naked and listens to him whine when he stands to remove his own clothes. Bucky arches his back off the bed while Steve undresses, and it’s a beautiful sight he presents when Steve finally comes back down to him. “Jesus, you’re so hot,” Bucky huffs once he’s covered with Steve again. He tips his head to the side to let the alpha lick and nip along the skin of his neck. He purrs, instinctually pleased at how it makes him feel when another person, an alpha, when _Steve_ touches him like that. Steve sucks on his scent gland and it makes Bucky’s cock jump and throb, makes him keen low in his throat and jerk in his hold. It makes him feel wanted. And god, Bucky wants too. He _wants_. Hand running restlessly up and down the planes of Steve’s back and side, fingers relishing the feeling of all that warm skin and hard muscle, he feels greedy and insatiable. Steve isn’t doing enough. He’s torturing Bucky with the touches to his neck and laying on top of him like this. Bucky can feel Steve’s erection against his stomach, but that is _not_ where he wants it. Not even close. “Steve,” he slurs, voice coming out breathier than he’d intended when Steve fucking _bites_ at the skin just next to Bucky’s scent gland. “ _Fuck_ , Steve.” Unable to articulate fast enough, he slaps his hand on top of Steve’s head and pushes, trying to shove him down his body. 

Steve’s a smart guy. He gets the message, and he groans as if the idea of sucking Bucky off is unbearably arousing to him. Hell, maybe it is, Bucky thinks. He’s never been with an alpha generous enough to pleasure him that way (most are very self-serving), but Bucky’s memories of his last heat float through his head while Steve is kissing and licking and taking his merry-fucking-time going down his body, and those memories kind of remind Bucky that Steve isn’t like those other alphas. Not out of bed, and not in bed either. Bucky exhales roughly when Steve’s hand wraps around him and his lips kiss the head of his cock. “Oh, yesss.”

Steve looks up at him, and _oh_ if the heated look in his eyes doesn’t do it for Bucky. Seeing Steve look so turned-on makes the tightness in Bucky’s belly swirl harder, and without meaning to he lets his hips jerk up, his cock bumping against Steve’s lips. Steve’s attention sinks down at that, and the sweetest, most desperate look passes over his face before he’s parting those lips and taking Bucky inside, taking him into the heat and pressure of his mouth. Bucky pants, hand dropping from Steve’s hair down to the bedsheets, where he can crumple them in his fist. “Oh, _ah_ , yeah.” He’s panting and whining as Steve starts sucking him and working him with his hand. Most alphas never get enough practice to actually become skilled at giving head, so Bucky is pleasantly surprised by how _attentive_ Steve is. He touches him good, oh, _so good_ , and it doesn’t take long for Bucky to become more sounds than words, hot, desperate cries leaving his mouth as Steve brings him off. Bucky would be embarrassed by how needy he sounds, only he’s feeling too good to care. He fucks into Steve’s mouth and trusts that it’s okay because Steve can easily hold his hips down if he needs to, and pretty soon Bucky feels that telltale pleasure curling tighter and tighter in him. He’s _right there_ , and before he tips over the edge he manages to reach behind himself and sink a finger in his ass and, _oh_ , he crashes _hard_. 

The backs of his eyelids flash white for a second as he spills into Steve’s mouth, making thin, punched-out noises all the while. Steve, the ~~bastard~~ saint, sucks him gently through it, only drawing off him when it becomes clear that Bucky’s done trembling. He rests his chin against Bucky’s stomach and looks up at him through all of those long, blond eyelashes. His cheeks are flushed pink and his lips are goddamned _red_. “Fuck,” Bucky murmurs.

Steve smiles. “You want to come again baby?” Bucky has to squeeze his eyes shut, since Steve should not be calling him that. He shouldn’t, but Bucky likes it. Instead of saying anything, Bucky just reaches down and does his best to pull Steve back up his body with his one hand. Steve obeys, coming up to lay over him again. “What do you want, Buck?” he breathes. 

“Flip me over,” Bucky tells him. He doesn’t have to repeat himself either, as Steve’s eyes go dark and he’s manhandling Bucky in the very next second, getting him on his stomach and making him purr at the forceful treatment. “ _Alpha_ ,” he breathes out, only realizing what he’s said when Steve’s hands freeze on him. “Oh…” he cringes and grinds his face into the mattress. “Shit.” 

If Steve has a problem with what he’s just called him or the _way_ he’s called him it, he doesn’t say anything. Instead he just sinks over him again, blanketing him with his body and kissing at the nape of his neck. Bucky can feel it as Steve moves his hips, dragging his erection down the cleft of his ass. Bucky’s slick makes it wet and smooth, and he pushes back as best he can. “Fuck me,” he breathes, voice reedy from pleasure. “Steve, please.” 

Steve grunts an assent and uses one hand to position himself outside Bucky’s entrance. For a second it seems he’s about to push in, but then his hips still and he freezes. Bucky can tell from the halt in his breath that something’s wrong. “What?” he says. “What’s wrong?”

“I…” Steve swallows audibly. “You’re not in heat.”

Bucky blinks once, then he downright _growls_. “Are you fucking kidding me? Who the fuck _cares_?!”

“No I mean you’re not fertile right now,” Steve interjects, sounding flustered. “You can’t conceive. So… do you want me to use a condom?”

Bucky huffs. “Do you _have_ a condom?”

“Um… well, no.”

“Then just get in me.” Steve doesn’t argue any further. He uses his knees to part Bucky’s legs, and then he’s pressing against Bucky’s entrance, forcing him open with his cock and making him cry out. “Oh!” he cries, squeezing his eyes shut and panting through the feeling of being penetrated so suddenly. It’s been so long. He’d forgotten how different sex outside of heat was. “Fuck,” he groans, though it’s quiet and said into the sheets beneath him. “Oh, …that’s good.”

Steve huffs, and his breath is close against the skin of Bucky’s back. He pants against him, hot and intimate, and it makes Bucky feel all the hotter at how clearly aroused Steve is. Bucky loves it, loves that Steve feels good from being inside his body. He wants to make the alpha feel so, so good. 

But he’s only just barely in Bucky; has stilled as if he’s afraid he’ll hurt him by moving. That’s ridiculous of course, so Bucky grunts and pushes his ass back, trying to get Steve to move. He does. One second he’s still, and then the next he’s thrusting in, bringing their bodies together in one slow— ~~agonizingly~~ wonderfully slow—slide. Bucky groans something fierce at the feel of it. “Oh, _Steve. Yeah_.”

“Yeah?”

“Ugh. Feels so good. You feel so good inside me.”

“Jesus Bucky.” Steve’s hand—the one that isn’t holding himself up—runs down the sweat-slicked skin of Bucky’s side. “You’re amazing. So beautiful. So sexy.”

Bucky groans at hearing that, has to bite his lip to keep from throwing out some self-deprecating remark. He’s too used to thinking of himself as undesirable. Hearing somebody call him words like that—words like _sexy_ and _beautiful_ —makes doubt and shame curl up in his gut. Bucky knows he’s not beautiful anymore. He _knows_ he’s not. But he’s got Steve inside him—handsome, strong, toothachingly-sweet Steve—and it feels too good and too right to do something as stupid as make a mean comment about his own body. Bucky doesn’t want Steve to stop, not ever, so he keeps his thoughts to himself and instead reaches over to tangle his fingers with Steve’s own. He squeezes him there, plaintive, and says, “ _Move_ , please move. Fuck me.”

Steve groans. His cock feels like heaven on that first drag outwards, touching Bucky in all the places that he wants to be touched, places that he can never reach himself. He cries into the bed and grits his teeth and uses the squeeze of Steve’s fingers on his to ground him as the alpha behind starts to fuck him. “Oh,” Bucky cries, starting up a litany of sounds that he can’t control and feels too good to notice anyway. Steve, however, Steve seems to notice. He makes noises of near-pained appreciation whenever Bucky cries out, whenever his body jerks and he begs Steve for more. They’re sweaty and a mess of limbs and kisses and half-murmured words. Steve doesn’t miss a chance to lick and nip at all the skin of Bucky’s shoulder and neck. He’s never come close to losing control around Bucky’s bonding gland before, so Bucky does absolutely nothing to impede him when he sets in to creating what will surely become _fantastic_ bruises the next day. He just groans and grunts and wishes that he were able to get his mouth on Steve’s own neck in return. 

As it is, Bucky relishes the position they’re in; relishes the way that Steve covers him with his body and keeps his legs forced apart and presses him into the bed like a command. It’s a command Bucky will gladly follow. He brings their twined hands under himself, to right beneath his own face, and he turns Steve’s hand palm-up so that he can nuzzle into it and lick the salt off his skin. He kisses and drags his teeth against the scent-rich veins of his inner-wrist, humming in pleasure at the flood  
of alpha pheromones that it makes burst into the air.

Steve moans at the sensation and keeps fucking him in that same, perfect rhythm. Bucky loves that Steve keeps it steady, maintains that not slow but not-quite-fast-enough rocking motion into and out of his body. He’s so in control, knows just what to do to make it good. And yeah, Bucky knows he has a competency kink. One which Steve fulfills just perfectly. Bucky himself has no control when he’s like this. He’d fuck any alpha silly once he’s feeling this good. So it’s a little bit like torture but also a lot like relief that he has Steve to hold him still and fuck him steady like this. Steve will get him there, will bring him off and make him cry out and spill against the sheets. Bucky doesn’t have to worry about anything. He just has to let him in, and enjoy it.

His eyes squeeze shut and his body contracts down hard on Steve when the alpha shifts and his next series of thrusts rub _right_ over Bucky’s prostate. His body releases a wave of slick that he can instantly feel on the backs of his thighs, smearing messy and wet between them. “Annngh!” he cries out, the sound pure omega. He’s slipping, he knows he is. Body feeling too good and mind slipping away to that place in him that he can’t control; that place where he doesn’t think in _Steves_ and _Buckys_ , but rather in _alphas_ and _omegas_. It’s only through sheer force of will that Bucky doesn’t blurt out a myriad of inappropriate things that his inner omega wants to say. Filthy, needy things like _breed me_ , or _bond me_ , or _make me yours_. He keeps them all inside, merely grunting with effort and using Steve’s pulsing, overwhelming scent to console himself. Steve only tries once to move his wrist away. Bucky’s fierce growl is refusal enough to keep him from trying again.

Steve’s breath gets heavier and more desperate, his thrusts just the tiniest bit harder the way that they do when he’s close, but just as his knot starts to grow, Bucky feels himself tense and he comes first, cock jerking and releasing all over the sheets. His cry of ecstasy seems to be what does it for Steve, because before Bucky’s even finished with his own orgasm, he feels Steve’s knot swell inside him. He gasps, now-weak fingers letting Steve’s wrist go when he tugs it away to wrap his arm around Bucky’s belly. Steve holds him there, hips fucking the little bit they can go as he knots Bucky and grunts into his skin. Bucky whines, knowing from Steve’s motions, from the sound of him, that he’s coming. He can’t feel it but he knows that Steve is filling him up, shooting off inside of him, and the thought makes him groan weakly into the sheets.

Somewhere in his pleasure-soaked mind, he mourns for the fact that the seed won’t take. 

.oOo.

They shower together in the hotel room’s bathroom. Steve runs his hands over Bucky’s water-slicked body and holds him close. He kisses him and washes him tenderly. It’s new; a level of intimacy that they haven’t had before, and it leaves Bucky feeling like a limp noodle when he gets out of the shower and towels himself off. 

They both get dressed again and head out of the hotel room hand in hand. Down in the lobby, Steve goes off to find Clint to tell him to bring the car around, and Bucky is left to wait on one of the couches. He watches the people in the atrium. They’re still dancing and kissing and drinking. Bucky watches it all with an air of distaste. Because the party going on certainly has a feel of the clubs from _before_ , but it’s not exactly the same. It’s seedier, because it’s very clearly all staged for the benefit of the powerful, the alphas. Bucky watches the people and gradually starts to realize that many, if not all of the omegas present have a very practiced air to them. They flirt and they dance and then they take the hands of the alphas they’re entertaining and trail off towards the elevators with practiced smirks glued onto their faces. Bucky comes to the slow but sick realization, after a while, that the omegas are all prostitutes. 

It puts a sour feeling in his gut, watching the goings-on and wondering how many of these omegas are being forced to do this. Bucky wonders if any of them have a choice. He’s just about to get up and go find Steve, when his eyes catch on the sight of one omega in-particular—a woman, scantily clad and loitering by the entrance to the lobby bathrooms. Bucky inhales sharply as he realizes that he recognizes her. “Oh,” he breathes, and then he’s getting up and going over to where she stands. “…Jenny?” he says incredulously when he reaches her.

Her attention quickly snaps to him at the use of her name, and then her eyes are widening. “ _Bucky_?” She looks shocked. “Oh my god. I can’t believe it!” Her face splits into a grin and she pushes off from the wall, arms quickly enveloping Bucky in a hug. Something about the hug turns tense though, as she can feel something lacking, and she pulls back and looks down at Bucky’s left side. “Oh, _shit_ ,” she murmurs. She looks back up at him, face bled over with that same sympathetic look that anybody whom Bucky encounters gets when they realize he only has one arm “You too, huh?” 

Bucky raises an eyebrow, because Jenny very clearly has all her limbs intact, but instead of answering she looks around hurriedly, then grabs him and pulls him with her into the ladies’ bathroom. Once they’re in there, Bucky asks, “Jenny, what the hell happened?” The last time he’d seen her was when they’d been captured, Bucky knocked out by three guardians and Jenny left in the middle of labor on a dusty bed. He looks at her in concern. “What happened to your baby?”

Her expression sobers. “It was a boy,” she says. “A little boy. …Theo.”

Bucky’s heart sinks. “He didn’t survive?”

“No, he did.” Jenny goes to hop up onto the counter, sitting by the sinks. She reaches into her dress—a skimpy thing that Bucky’s got no clue how she keeps anything hidden in—and retrieves a cigarette and lighter. She gets it lit and gets a drag in before exhaling and telling him, “They took him from me. Probably gave him away to some family.”

“Jesus. Jenny I’m so sorry.”

She shrugs as if it doesn’t matter, but it does matter and Bucky can tell that she’s just shielding herself from whatever pain thinking about it does her. “I’m sure he’s safe. That’s all that matters. Not like I could take care of him here.”

“Yeah that’s another thing. Why _are_ you here?” Bucky gives her a dubious look. “Do you… work here?”

She laughs, but there’s little humor to the sound. “Yeah I guess you could say that.”

“How?”

She shrugs. “When they caught me, they took me to a red center at first. But Theo’s birth was difficult. The doctors said I couldn’t have any more kids. So they kicked me out of the red center and gave me a choice: the colonies, or here.” She waves her cigarette loftily through the air. “So I chose this. And now I’m a jezebel.”

“Jesus.”

“Eh, it’s not so bad.” She gives him a rueful smile. “You only work nights. And they give you all the booze and drugs you could want.”

Bucky sighs. “I’m sorry Jen. I should have protected you. Should’ve shot faster or—”

“Don’t,” she says. “Don’t do that. You did everything you could. We both did.”

Neither one of them says anything more. There’s no point. Instead Bucky sighs and scrubs his hand over his face. “Can’t fucking believe you’re here,” he says. “I never thought I’d see you again. Not anybody from the resistance.”

“That why they took your arm?”

God, Bucky loves Jenny but he honestly is tired of being asked about this. “Yeah,” he mutters.

“Mm. Thought so.” Jenny smokes a little more from her cigarette, then stubs it out in the sink and reaches to roll up her sleeve. “It’s no amputation, but…” Bucky’s breath catches at the sight of her hand and arm, and then he feels sick. The skin is thick and twisted; terribly scarred. Jenny sees his expression and nods. “Hm, yeah.”

“ _Christ_. What did they even do?”

“Handcuffed me to a commercial range in an old fast food joint. Turned the burner on.”

Suddenly, Bucky feels a wave nausea overwhelm him. He leans heavily against the sink as he tries to force the feeling down. “Shit,” he says, swallowing the saliva that pools in his mouth. He pants, sure that he’s going to vomit.

“Hey, hey. You okay?” Jenny reaches—with her burnt and scarred hand—to turn on the tap. “Drink some water.” Bucky does so, and after a minute the wave has passed. “Way to make a girl feel good,” Jenny says. She rolls her sleeve back down.

“Sorry,” he mutters. “I just… I thought I’d heard it all, you know?”

She huffs a laugh. “There’s always something worse. Always will be, until we beat these motherfuckers.”

Bucky frowns. “You really think we will?”

“You can’t think like that. Of course we will.” Jenny frowns heavily at him. “The world can’t stay this way. It just can’t.”

Bucky shrugs and offers an apologetic nod. “Sure.” He doesn’t say so, but privately he thinks that he’s not so sure she’s right. Jenny winds up offering a cigarette, but Bucky wasn’t a smoker _before_ , and he winds up declining. A woman at the back of the bathroom yells out for the few women loitering in the restroom to ‘get back to work!’ and Bucky winds up giving Jenny a hug and exchanging goodbyes. He’s not sure if he’ll ever see her again.


	18. Dissonance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter tags/warnings: references to execution

Bucky traverses slowly around Steve’s office, relearning its scents and sounds—the smell that the older books have, the couch cushions that smell somehow of potpourri, the pop of the logs in the fire and the scratchiness of the antique radio that Steve keeps tuned to a holiday station. Bucky thinks about that. This’ll be the first Christmas since the regime took over that he’s spent in a house, he realizes. That first year, he’d been holed up in the Pennsylvania mountains, shooting whatever moved and trying to keep warm. The following two were both spent in the inadequately-heated shell of a former high school. The caretakers had given them extra prayers and tried to put together a halfway-decent Christmas dinner, but it hadn’t been the same, not with the scattered few with new mutilations imposed on their bodies struggling to keep their whimpers in over the cafeteria table spread.

Bucky blinks, pushing the memory away and thumbing at the worn spine of an atlas. He’s in Steve’s house now, he reminds himself. He can take comfort in that fact, can enjoy it even. Steve’s household is different and Bucky is a part of that household. It’s still Gilead and Bucky’s still a prisoner, but at least it’s an upgrade. At least there’re fires in the fireplace, and carols on the radio, …and Steve. Bucky’s glad he has Steve; someone who isn’t a True Believer, who tries to be kind and who makes him feel good. Bucky smiles softly and walks further along the bookcase. His stomach is pleasantly full with the goose ( _goose!_ ) that Sharon had roasted for dinner. Bucky doesn’t think he’s ever had goose before, but he most certainly likes it now, and he thinks that the perfect way to end the evening will be by finding a new book to curl up by the fire with. 

He hasn’t been able to read in weeks and it’s been a near-painful loss. _All Rollins’ fault_ , he thinks bitterly. Having an Eye in the house has made everything so much less enjoyable. But that seems to be the special skill that all True Believers share; ruining everything for everybody else. Bucky trails his fingers over the books, eyes flashing over the titles. But the titles blur together as his thoughts drift to something else—how he’s even here at all. “What did you do,” he says slowly, “to get Rollins to let me in here with you at night again?”

Steve glances up from where he’s seated at his desk, stack of papers in front of himself. Since Bucky entered the room, he hasn’t done anything with it. He’s just been staring at it with a look resembling indigestion. “What? He says dumbly.

“Before, you said I couldn’t keep coming here to read in the evenings. You said it was too risky with Rollins in the house. But now I’m invited back?” Bucky tips his head in question. “What changed?”

Steve frowns a little and averts his eyes back to his papers. “He hurt you. I told him he’d better back off if he didn’t want me reporting him for assaulting a vessel.”

Bucky raises an eyebrow, he can’t help it. “He only shocked me a little, smacked me.” _I’ve had far worse done to me before_ , is what he doesn’t say but which is definitely implied. “‘Assaulted’?”

Steve shrugs without looking up. “I made him understand that any report I made would be… _harsh_ in its wording. ‘Assault’ can imply a lot of things.”

Bucky scoffs. “Yeah, trust me I know. So you told him you’d lie? That you’d what, say he raped me?”

Steve looks up, peeved. “I told him to watch himself.” He nods meaningfully at where Bucky is standing by the bookcase. “Now you have your nights back in here.” He looks back down, picks up his pen. “With me.”

Bucky opens his mouth to say something else, but he stops short, lips quirking up slightly instead when he realizes that Steve may just be as happy as he is to have their nights in the library together back. “Oh. I see.” Steve nods, face set into a stern sort of frown as he continues to regard the papers laid out before him. He hasn’t done a single thing with them since Bucky came into the room half an hour ago, just keeps tapping his pen in agitation. Bucky indicates the papers and asks, “Whatcha working on?” He half-expects Steve to say “Shield stuff,” and dismiss any more questions, but instead he says,

“Execution orders.”

Bucky freezes, taken-aback. “What?” he breathes.

Steve sighs. He drops the pen onto the desk and sits back in his chair, running his hands through his hair in stress. When his eyes meet Bucky’s, they look tired. “They caught a suicide bomber in transit. He was taking the metro into the city. Now they’ve apparently arrested a few people in relation to the plot as well.”

“Jesus.” Bucky gulps. He nods at Steve’s papers. “So… you’re in charge of that?” He’s never outright asked Steve what his job as a commander is; has been too afraid to hear the answer, he supposes.

“I am when it happens in my district,” Steve says. “And unfortunately for me, they pulled him off at the Silver Spring station, so it’s my district.”

“And you’re going to sentence him to death?” 

Steve sighs. “In smaller matters I can usually get away with commuting sentences or making sure paperwork gets ‘lost’, but not here.”

“You’re going to sentence people to death.”

“I don’t have a choice. Not with something this high-profile. It’s expected.”

“Jesus,” Bucky huffs. He reaches back and pulls a book off the shelf without looking to see what it is, then goes over and dumps himself on one of the couches. “This is so fucked. He was probably working for the resistance, you know?”

Steve nods. “He was.”

“Ugh.” Bucky feels disgusted, has felt disgusted since he found Jenny working in Jezebels, scantily-clad and left hand burnt up like a crispy critter. It’s been harder to tamp down his anger since then, the bitterness and unease that’ve been ever-present in the back of his mind seeping closer to the forefront with each passing day. It’s getting harder and harder to keep his mouth shut. “This is never going to get better,” he murmurs, echoing his words from that night with Jenny. He doesn’t really intend for Steve to hear it, but he does.

“What? Hey, Bucky… no. Don’t say that. You can’t think like that.” He looks imploringly at him. “We’re making progress, I promise you we are. But change comes slowly.”

Bucky scoffs and tosses his book aside. If he had two arms he’s sure he’d be folding them right about now. “Sure didn’t happen slowly when The Faithful were tearing down America and building up _Gilead_ ,” he retorts. “They pulled that shit off overnight.”

Steve’s frown is apparent. “That’s because they were willing to kill whoever and however many they needed to achieve their mission. Shield isn’t.”

Bucky glares. “Yeah well maybe you should be,” he says. “Because how many people are getting hung, or having their limbs hacked off, or being forced to prostitute themselves to death because ‘change comes slowly’?” Steve’s brow wrinkles at that, and Bucky knows that it’s partly because he hasn’t said anything to Steve about how he’d met his old war buddy in the bathrooms at Jezebels. Steve probably thinks the prostitutes bit is Bucky referring to himself. Bucky doesn’t like the hurt look he’s put onto Steve’s face either, so he surges on, saying, “God, do you have any idea what I’d do if I had two arms and a lot of guns?”

Steve’s lips quirk. “I can imagine.”

“I’d fucking shoot them all,” Bucky says, eyes burning. “I’d shoot them in front of their families, in front of their friends. And then I’d throw anyone who was complicit in it straight into jail.”

“Jesus Bucky…”

“You don’t think they deserve it?” he says, voice loud and indignant. “With the shit you’ve seen?”

Steve’s jaw firms. He looks very displeased with Bucky’s tone (understandable, since he’s not exactly being _nice_ right now), but he doesn’t say anything back. Bucky jerks his head at Steve’s desk, at the myriad of binders and papers and at the computer there. “What awful shit have they had you do for them, huh?” Again, Steve doesn’t say anything, just sits there looking like an angry, sad little puppy that’s been kicked. Bucky scoffs and reaches over to pick up whatever the hell book it is that he’d pulled from the shelf. “‘Change comes slowly’,” he mutters again, knowing this time that Steve can hear it. “Give me a break.” 

Bucky’s too prideful to get up and find another book when he glances down and sees that he’s holding a copy of _Maryland Marshlands and Waterfowl: a hunter’s guide_. So he’s stuck reading that, while over at his desk, Steve’s stuck signing death warrants. 

-

That night, when Steve has finished his work ( _work, what a joke_ , Bucky thinks) and turns off the desk lamp, it’s clear that it’s time to retire for the evening. He and Bucky trail up the stairs together, but when Steve goes to the doors of his bedroom, Bucky doesn’t continue on towards the stairs up to the third floor. Instead he goes with Steve, standing close behind him. 

As he senses this, Steve pauses with his hand still on the door handle. “Buck?” he asks.

Bucky exhales, convincing himself to say what he wants. “I want to sleep in here with you,” he says. Ever since that night at the hotel, he’s wanted to sleep with Steve. Not just sex (though he wants that too), but the closeness that comes with sleeping with another body in the bed. Bucky wants to discover how they fit together that way. He wants to know if Steve splays out, or if he’ll pull Bucky in close against his body and hold him that way all night. “Can I?” he asks. Steve turns around slowly. He’s looking at Bucky with an apology already written on his face. Bucky’s heart sinks. “Why not?” he complains.

“I just don’t think it’s a good idea,” Steve tells him softly.

“Other commanders do it. The ones who aren’t married.”

Steve sighs. “I know. I just… I want more Bucky. I’d… it’d make me want to touch you.”

“So touch me,” Bucky says. He puts his hand on Steve’s waist and steps closer. “I want it too.”

But Steve is shaking his head minutely. “We can’t outside of your heat, you know that. Rollins might hear. Hell, he could smell it on us in passing.”

Bucky growls. “So fucking what?”

“We’re not married Bucky. It’d be fornication.” Steve looks at him tenderly, blue eyes squinched in apology. He reaches down and removes Bucky’s hand from his side. To Bucky, it feels like a slap in the face. “I’m sorry, Buck,” Steve says again, and his voice is still gentle and kind, damn him.

Bucky steps back before he can do something as stupid as shove Steve into the door, or kiss him. “Fine,” he says tightly, already turning to go. He’s halfway down the hall towards the stairs that lead up to his room when he hears Steve give a sad sort of sigh and close the bedroom door. Bucky glances back. Steve is gone.

.oOo.

Bucky’s never been an overly-emotional person, but despite his best efforts, over the course of the next week his mood just seems to get worse. He stops sleeping so well, nightmares plaguing his dreams in a way they haven’t since the red center. He dreams about Jenny and her baby, and _his_ baby that’d come out in a bloody lump. He dreams about cables and tasers and bone saws. He dreams about base camp and the apartment he’s never seen where his mom and Becca now live, and when he wakes up in the mornings it’s usually to headaches. He ruminates, his sour mood giving him indigestion if not by breakfast then at least by lunchtime each day. And he can’t bring himself to make easy conversation with Sam or anybody else the way he used to. 

On a shopping day, he’s taken-aback when he steps out into the street and sees a moving van parked in the Halston’s driveway. He swallows, watching as an unfamiliar man in beta blue directs movers holding boxes into and out of the house’s open front door. Bucky stares, and he’s startled when a voice very near to him says, “That’s my commander’s husband; Mr. Williams.” Bucky turns and blinks. Before him is another vessel. She smiles at him and holds out her hand. “Blessed day.”

“…Blessed day,” Bucky says, shaking her hand briefly. “You…” he glances back to the Halston’s (or, he corrects himself, what _used_ to be the Halston’s) house, “You live there now?”

“Mmhm.” She nods. She’s holding a canvas bag just like Bucky is, and she smiles at him. “Guess we’re shopping partners, huh?”

“Yeah, guess so.” 

“Praise be.”

Bucky wants to roll his eyes. He figures he’s gotten stuck with another True Believer. “What’s your name?” he asks her as they start to walk. 

“I’m Ofcarl,” she says pleasantly.

Bucky huffs. “No, I mean your _real_ name.”

She looks over at him, brow pinched in consideration. After a brief pause she just says, “I’m _Ofcarl_.” She keeps walking, and Bucky follows along and doesn’t attempt to make any more conversation. He thinks about the Halstons, about Ofjohn, about the black van that’d screeched into the driveway not even two weeks ago—the very same driveway where there’s now a moving truck. He thinks about how easily it is now that people are swept away and replaced, their lives taken over with little fanfare or acknowledgement. He thinks about how absolutely fucked everything is.

-

On the way back from their shopping, Bucky does something he’s never done before. He stops to stare at the bodies that are currently hung on the wall closest to their neighborhood. Ofcarl seems disturbed that he wants to look, but he just ignores her. “Go on home if you want,” he tells her. “I want to look.” She makes a noise of distaste in her throat but by now she’s gathered that Bucky isn’t exactly looking to make friends, and she walks away towards the entrance to the neighborhood. 

“Fine. Freeze if you want.”

Bucky sets his shopping bag down in a place where the snow’s been shoveled and stares up at the wall. There are a few new ones up today, he observes; obviously fresh because of the trickles of blood that drain down the wall. Most people are shot before being strung up, but the weather washes the blood away eventually. That’s how you tell the new bodies from the old. In the summer, it’s the flies. But in the winter, it’s the blood. Bucky looks to see what crimes each of them has supposedly committed. The signs strung around their necks tell that, and by now he’s memorized what the symbols mean. Abortion doctor, designation queer, religious traitor. The latter is a male, but the bodies all have bags over their heads. Bucky wonders if the man hanging there is Commander Halston. 

“Hey, what are you doing?”

Bucky looks over. One of the guardians from the neighborhood checkpoint has come over. She’s standing stiff and looking suspiciously at him. Bucky sneers, he can’t help it. “Just appreciating you guys’ fine work,” he says, gesturing at the wall.

The woman frowns. “You need to continue on home,” she says.

“I’m taking a rest,” Bucky snaps. “It’s a long walk into town.”

“Not that long. Get your things and continue on.”

Bucky turns to her finally. “Why can’t I stand here for a damn minute and get some fresh air, huh?” He scoffs, an acerbic sound. “Or is that a punishable offense now? You gonna string me up there too?” That seems to do it for the guardian, she shoulders the rifle that she’s been holding and steps forward to grab Bucky by the arm. “Hey! Don’t touch me!”

“Shut up,” she says. She takes her phone out of her pocket and holds it up to Bucky’s ear to scan his red tag. She looks down at the screen. “Ofsteven,” she says. “That makes sense.”

“Yeah and what the hell’s that supposed to mean?” Bucky snaps. He jerks his arm away roughly when the guardian releases him.

“I’ve heard about you. Trouble-maker.” She sneers at Bucky’s left side. “Though I guess that should be apparent.”

“Yeah, doesn’t take a genius or a freaking ear tag to figure that out,” Bucky says. “Though I guess they don’t screen for intelligence in the military these days.”

Anger bleeds into the guardian’s face. For a second, she looks like she’s going to hit Bucky. But she manages to hold herself back. “Get your shopping bag,” she tells him. “I’m taking you home.”

-

At the door, it’s Steve who answers. “Officer,” he says to the guardian, who’s got an authoritative hand on Bucky’s shoulder. “What are you doing with my vessel?”

“They’re supposed to stay with their partners,” the woman says in a tone that’s rude—far ruder than a guardian should be addressing a commander with. She removes her hand from Bucky and steps off the porch. “Make sure he knows that from now on.”

Steve watches her go with an unhappy expression, and then he looks at Bucky. “Making trouble?” he says lightly.

Bucky scowls and pushes past him into the house. “Gotta get this stuff in the fridge,” he grunts.

.oOo.

It’s at lunch the next day that Steve makes an announcement. He looks up from his spot at the head of the table, setting his spoon down with a gentle ‘clink’ (they’re having butternut squash soup and it’s amazing. _Thank you, Sharon_ ). “So, I got a call this morning,” Steve says, and it’s clear that he’s addressing everybody. Bucky and everybody else looks at him in question. Steve swallows apprehensively, eyes darting to Bucky for the briefest second before regarding the whole table again. “There’s a delegation coming to DC next week.”

Natasha raises an eyebrow. She doesn’t look surprised. “The Russians?”

“Mmhm.” Steve nods, though he doesn’t look pleased. “They’re coming to observe the… efficacy of the new policies we’ve put into practice.”

Bucky frowns. “What do you mean?”

Steve’s eyes shoot to his, and he looks almost apologetic. “Our agricultural programs. …And our social structuring.”

Bucky snorts. “You mean segregation.”

“The vessel program, in particular, is of special interest to them.”

“I’ll bet it is.”

“Bucky that’s enough.” Steve looks at him, exasperated. “I didn’t sanction this visit. It’s been arranged by the higher-ups. The Russians aren’t the only ones who want to see how Gilead is working.” Bucky averts his gaze at that, going back to eating his soup. Steve continues, “So I have to tell you guys that we’ve been requested to host a dinner for the visitors.” Sharon huffs in annoyance at this, no doubt already imagining all the work she’ll have to do to get ready. Bucky shoots her a look down the table, trying to communicate with his eyes that he’ll at least try to help her. She seems to get it, and smiles back. “We’ll be expected to show a good example of what Gilead represents, so everybody has to behave accordingly,” Steve says. “Senior officers from the capitol will be here. They’ll be watching. Everybody will have their role to play.” Clint and Natasha share annoyed glances and Sam huffs, but it’s Bucky at whom Steve looks. “We can’t afford any mishaps. Understand?”

Bucky can’t help it, he practically glares at Steve. “Perfectly,” he says, then continues eating his lunch.


	19. Bad Eggs

Bucky makes his bed neatly like he always does. It’s a morning ritual that always reminds him of his mom. She’s the one who drummed the habit into him as a kid. He smiles faintly as he thinks of her, tucking the last corner of the bed in and remembering how Becca always bitched that it was pointless, that they were just going to mess it all up come bedtime. 

He makes his way upstairs and closes the basement door quietly. It’s a Saturday and the commander and Mrs. Putnam generally like to sleep in, since Sundays necessitate an early rise for Church services. Bucky’s not as concerned with waking Warren so much as he is Carol. The woman can be a real bitch when she doesn’t get her beauty rest. So he remains quiet as he makes his way into the kitchen to see what’s for breakfast. 

The family’s Martha, Fiona, is in there getting the breakfast together. Bucky can tell from the way that she moves that she’s trying to be quiet as well; a real feat, since she’s dealing with pots and pans and the silver tureens that she puts all the breakfast stuff in. Bucky goes and sits on one of the stools at the breakfast bar. “Need help?” he asks.

She looks over. “Oh, good morning Ofwarren. Thanks but no, I’m good.”

Bucky nods and looks over what she’s made; eggs, bacon, a pan of what’s probably bread pudding. Bucky’s eyes linger on the eggs—scrambled today—and he feels a wave of nausea creep over him. He swallows, hastily removing his eyes from the eggs. “Think I could grab some of that bacon?” he asks. “Just a little? I’ll make some toast and get out of your hair.”

Fiona gives a quick nod and keeps on with her work. “Sure.” She’s young—if Bucky had to guess, no older than twenty, so about his age—but she’s always seemed to Bucky to be a hard worker. If she minds her position as the Putnams’ servant, she keeps it to herself. Bucky gets up and snags a few pieces of bacon and stuffs them straight into his mouth. He chews them and considers the eggs again, but a brief look at the scrambled yellow mass is enough to have saliva pooling unpleasantly in his mouth again, and he turns away to go make the toast. It’s as he’s grabbing the loaf of rye from the bread box that Fiona says mildly at his back, “Getting to be around past that time, isn’t it?”

Bucky turns, questioning look on his face. He grabs a plate from the cupboard and sticks the bread in the toaster. “What’re you talking about?”

She looks at him pointedly. “Last ceremony night was almost six weeks ago.”

Bucky freezes with his hand over the toaster lever. “I—” he thinks about it, rallying his mind to count backwards to the last time he’d been forced to sleep with Warren. He counts way more than thirty days. “Oh…”

“Yeah.”

“Shit.” Bucky glances at her. “You think he noticed?”

Her lips quirk up into what could almost be considered a smile. “Are you kidding?”

“Yeah, course not.” Bucky bites his lip, thinking. He glances to the eggs again, making sense of his reaction to them now. “Shit,” he repeats. How could he not have noticed this? “Carol hasn’t said anything,” he says.

“She’s an infertile beta. She’s never had to keep track of a cycle before,” Fiona says. Bucky looks at her and the two of them share a look of understanding. Fiona’s omega too, only she’s not fertile like Bucky is so she doesn’t have to put up with the bullshit of being a vessel. “What are you going to do?” she asks lightly, averting her eyes back to her work. 

Bucky sighs, feeling overwhelmed. He could be pregnant. Probably is at this point. Six weeks is outside of _late_ territory and verging on _time to take a test_ land. His gut reaction is a giant _holy shit_ , but really this shouldn’t be a surprise. He _has_ been having unprotected sex with an alpha for the past eight months. “I don’t know,” he murmurs. “Guess I should tell them, right?”

“Don’t look at me,” she says. “S’not my problem.”

Bucky snorts. “Yeah, guess not.” _Lucky you_ , he wants to say, but doesn’t. That’d be mean, and he’s always kind of liked Fiona. She lets him sneak snacks from time to time, so she’s cool in Bucky’s book. “I… I guess I’ll tell them,” he says. There’s really no reason not to. Despite the shock of this revelation, it’s kind of what everybody’s been aiming for. The Putnams are like everybody else: desperate to have a baby. And Bucky’s depending on one to save him from a life in the colonies. It’s weird, to want something and yet not want it at the same time. Numbly, his hand floats to his stomach and he looks down at it. Flat as ever. Weird. “Yeah,” he repeats. The toast pops up. “Guess I’ll tell them.” 

.oOo.

Morning sun streaming in through the window wakes Bucky up, and he blinks tiredly, realizing that one, it must be pretty late in the morning for the winter sun to be beating into the room like this, and two, he’s woken up with a headache, again. “Great,” he mutters. Squinching his eyes shut and rubbing the crusts from the corners, he sits up. The bedroom floor is cold against his bare feet and it makes him wince. The Putnams’ basement may have been damp and dark, but at least it’d been carpeted. 

Getting up, Bucky makes his way over to the bathroom. He stumbles a little and has to catch himself on the doorjamb. “Whoa,” he says. Headache’s making him dizzy. “‘Nother lovely day,” he mutters, grumpy already. He’s definitely going to be in a sour mood, _again_. Sighing, he takes a piss and washes his hands. He gets dressed and forgoes shoes, trudging downstairs in just his socks, since he’s not in the mood to endure the chilled hardwood floors any longer. Bucky thinks that he’ll have to complain to Steve to turn the damned thermostat up. What’s the point in being a rich, entitled commander if you can’t be a little indulgent with the furnace, after all? 

Bucky gets one step into the kitchen, sees the eggs that Sharon’s making, and his stomach flips. 

“Fuck.”

.oOo.

Bucky tries not to fidget too much, since he doesn’t want to draw attention to himself. He holds the little teacup that Natasha gave him—everyone else gets brandy, but not Bucky—and sips it as he ruminates. Four weeks, almost exactly. That’s what the calendar had confirmed to Bucky when he’d slipped into Steve’s office that afternoon to check. He can’t be sure, he tells himself as he sits in his chair in the corner of the front parlor and ignores what all the guests are talking about. He can’t be sure until a little more time has passed. He could hit heat any day now, could wake up wet and aching and have to see everybody in the house wrinkle their noses when he enters the room. He just has to hold out and see. He’s got the leeway of a few more days before he has to be sure.

 _Why are you freaking out?_ His mind says to him. _This is what you wanted._

Bucky knows it is. He’s not… _scared_ per se, just anxious. It’s nerve-wracking to not know. He knows he can’t say anything to Steve until he knows for sure.

He’s pulled from his thoughts when the conversation quiets and an accented voice says, “Ofsteven?” Bucky’s eyes shoot up. Everyone’s looking at him—a bunch of commanders and their spouses, and the Russians. It’s one of the Russians who’s spoken. The fat man glances back at Steve. “Is that correct? ‘Ofsteven’?” 

Steve nods. “Yes. All vessels take patronymics, derived from their head of household.” 

The Russian man, a man who’s already been introduced as the Russian ambassador, turns back to Bucky. He’s got a friendly smile on his face, but Bucky doesn’t return it. “Ofsteven,” he says, “we haven’t heard much from you this evening. I’d be very interested to hear your perspective on Gilead.”

Bucky swallows nervously. He’s not used to having so many eyes on him, and Steve has made it more than clear that there can’t be any fuck ups tonight, not with so many eyes watching. “Um,” he says, “On Gilead?”

The man nods. “Yes. Can you tell us how you came to the decision to serve as a vessel? It seems like a huge sacrifice.”

Internally, Bucky scoffs. “The _‘decision’_?” he repeats. He catches Steve and Natasha looking at him worriedly. Perhaps they think he’s going to spill the beans, he realizes. Bucky looks back at the ambassador. “Well I… I found out in college that I could have children.”

“A rare blessing,” the ambassador says.

“Yeah, sure.” Bucky swallows, glances to Steve again, then continues, “I ah, I heard about the vessel program a year after the institution of biblical law. I was single at the time and it just seemed like the right thing to do.” Bucky averts his eyes, deciding to focus on the innocuous depths of his teacup. “…So I volunteered,” he finishes in a near-whisper. He thinks if he had to say that last vile phrase any louder, he might blow up. It’s the best lie he can cook up on the spot, even though it makes him feel nearly sick to say it.

“You seem very young,” one of the other diplomats observes. “To have made such a huge life decision.” He blinks at Bucky, clearly expecting a response.

“I’m twenty-three,” Bucky says. He’s not sure what else there is to say. _Yeah I’m fucking young_ , he thinks acerbically. _I should be in grad school right now but instead I’m here_.

“And how old are you, commander?” This from the same man, geared at Steve.

Steve coughs, looking flustered. “Um, I’m thirty-four. Age isn’t really a factor that—”

“—Our vessels volunteer regardless of age. They truly are selfless,” one of the senior commanders breaks in, smiling.

“Well,” the ambassador is exclaiming cheerfully, though the man who asked Bucky’s age doesn’t quite seem satisfied, “that is a wonderful thing. You must be incredibly proud of yourself, doing such an important service for your country.”

Bucky glances back up. He sees that Steve looks relieved. “Yeah,” Bucky mumbles. “Real proud.”

The ambassador and the other Russian diplomats smile at him, then they turn back to talking amongst themselves. Bucky catches Steve’s eye and Steve mouths, “Good job” at him. Bucky just winces into his next sip of tea.

For the next hour or so, Bucky isn’t asked any more questions. In fact, he’s largely ignored. He prefers it that way. He just sits there in his little chair and sips his tea and listens to the goings on in the room. It isn’t always pleasant conversation, at least not to Bucky. He has to sit there and listen to the commanders talk to the Russians about all the atrocities being committed in Gilead. They make light of a lot of it, as if public executions, ritualized rape and systematic discrimination are no big deal. They sugar coat everything and use euphemisms for most of it, of course, but listening to them laugh and joke is just downright unsettling. The Russians, Bucky thinks, can almost be excused for it. They’re largely ignorant. But the commanders? They’re most definitely not. They’re smiling and having a pleasant evening _despite_ their knowledge of what goes on in this brave new world of theirs. How they can treat it like this, can chat about the people whose lives they’ve ruined over brandy and cigars, is beyond Bucky. It makes his already less-than-stellar mood sour even further. 

And the worst part, of course, is watching Steve join in with the conversation like it’s no big deal, like he’s just another commander. Though, Bucky supposes after some thought, he kind of _is_. Eventually, Bucky winds up having to hide his scowl into his teacup. 

.oOo.

Bucky’s never eaten in the house’s formal dining room before. The table is ridiculously long, able to seat all twenty-two people without much trouble. Bucky is seated at the end opposite Steve, next to the spouses of the senior commanders who’ve attended. He glances at the three men and two women, thinking that they look just about as bored as Bucky feels. Not much of the conversation has been directed their way the entire evening, the commanders and diplomats hobnobbing and discussing amongst themselves. For once, Bucky doesn’t feel like the only unimportant party in the room.

“Ofsteven,” one of the wives says to him once the first course has been taken away and the second is being served (soup; something with leeks floating on top), “How long have you been posted at Commander Rogers’ household?”

Bucky’s a little surprised that one of the wives is bothering to talk to him. Generally, spouses tend to regard vessels like him with an air of disdain, at best. He’s able to do what they cannot, after all. But this woman looks pleasant-enough, is regarding him with a friendly set to her face. “Um, two and a half months,” he says. That fact is very clear in his mind, today of all days. 

“That’s not very long.”

“Well, no. I guess not. It feels like longer.”

She smiles gently at him. “I’m sure. Is this your first posting?”

Bucky frowns and stares down into his soup. “No.”

“Oh…”

“Why are you talking to him?” one of the other spouses hisses at the woman—it’s a man, one of the grumpier-looking spouses. Bucky glances up peevishly at him. Then the guy goes and says, “You shouldn’t talk to them. They’re all criminals, you know. That’s why they’re red-tagged. They’re little whores.”

Bucky’s breath catches, anger flooding him faster than he ever could’ve imagined. “Excuse me?” he says.

The man looks at him without remorse. “You heard me. Now go on and eat your soup.”

Bucky’s lips thin. He drops his spoon into the bowl with a loud clatter. Eyes turn his way but he hardly notices because he can’t look away from the guy across the table from him. “You called me a whore,” he says, not bothering to keep his voice low. “Apologize.”

The man scoffs, but then he glances to the side, taking better note than Bucky of the table full of commanders looking their way. “Um, why are you being so rude?” he says too Bucky, fake smile slipping back onto his face. “I was only—”

“You _called_ me a whore,” Bucky repeats. His fingers are digging tightly into the upholstery of his dining chair at this point. “Do you think I _like_ being made to do this? You think it’s _fun_?!” 

“Ofsteven.” It’s Steve’s voice. Bucky glances his way. Steve’s face looks stonier than he’s ever seen it. “You may leave the table.”

Bucky’s heart flutters, and not in a good way. _Oh crap_. He’s gone and done it now. The anger that’d been so hot under his skin only seconds ago bleeds into dread now. Bucky glances at everyone else at the table. They’re all staring at him. The diplomats look shocked, while the commanders look pissed off. _Oh shit_. Bucky gulps. He takes his napkin off his lap and places it next to the soup bowl, then pushes away from the table and stands. It’s nearly-unbearable to see the looks of everyone in the room, focused on him like this. He has royally fucked up. “Sorry,” he whispers, then turns and walks far more slowly from the room than he’d like.

When he gets out into the hall he suddenly feels incredibly light-headed. He rushes to lean against the wall and squeezes his eyes shut, trying not to faint. “Fuck,” he whispers as he fights the dizziness away. “Fuck.” He can hear the clink of silverware start back up in the dining room, can hear Steve making an embarrassed apology to all of the guests,

_“I’m so sorry. They can be… emotional, unfortunately. It’s hard, what they do.”_

Bucky’s too overwhelmed at what’s just happened to even get pissed at Steve’s condescending tone. He pushes away from the wall and shakily makes his way up to his room.

.oOo.

It feels like the party downstairs goes on for hours, though Bucky knows it can’t possibly be that long. He doesn’t bother turning the light on in his room, just sits on his bed, in the dark, waiting for the moment when all the guests have left and Steve comes to angrily tell him off. Because he’s sure that’s what’s going to happen. 

So it comes as a surprise when Steve arrives and just stands in the doorway to Bucky’s room, leaning against the doorjamb with a calm, if tired, expression. Bucky raises an eyebrow at him. “Well?” he says.

“Well, what?”

Bucky’s lips part, surprised. “Aren’t you going to lay me out? Tell me what an embarrassment I am?”

Steve just stares at him for a long moment, and then his head dips down. He sighs tiredly. “You didn’t embarrass me Buck.”

“Oh really?” Bucky challenges. “Well it sure didn’t seem like it to me.”

“You put me on the spot. You made me look bad,” Steve says. “But you didn’t embarrass me. If anything you scared me.”

“Scared you?” Bucky frowns. “What the hell do you have to be scared of, huh?”

Steve’s brow furrows. “Plenty. I told you there would be important people watching tonight Bucky. You couldn’t keep it together for just a few hours?”

Bucky feels heat hit his face, and he can’t tell if it’s from embarrassment or anger. Maybe both. “Oh I’m sorry,” he says testily. “Did my attitude ruin your evening? Did I bring the mood down from how good a time you and your buddies were having, telling stories about all the horrible things they do?”

Steve frowns. “Bucky…”

“No! I heard the shit they were talking about Steve. The stuff they were joking about. _Joking_.” He scoffs, shaking his head. “How do you even make a joke about public executions?”

“They were just—”

“No I don’t want to hear about what ‘they were just’!” Bucky snaps. He glares at Steve. “You went along with it.”

“I was playing my part. I _told_ you we’d have to—”

“’Playing your part’. Yeah, you’re really fucking good at that, aren’t you, Mr. Commander?”

Steve’s whole body stiffens at that. “That’s not fair Bucky.”

“Fair? You’re going to talk to me about what’s not fair?” Bucky stands up, though he doesn’t step any closer to Steve. “It’s not _fair_ that I have to be here. It’s not _fair_ that I have no left arm. It’s not _fair_ that perfectly innocent people are hanging up on a wall outside our neighborhood.” He shakes his head, looking sorrowfully at Steve. “And it’s not _fair_ that you get to wait this whole thing out in the comfort of your own house, with all the same rights and even more privileges than you had before.” If Steve could clench his jaw any harder, Bucky’s pretty sure he’d hear his teeth break. That doesn’t stop him from saying, however, “How can you just sit by and do nothing while horrendous things are being done? Don’t you _know_ what the regime is doing?” He holds up his hand and folds his fingers down one by one as he lists off, “Mass executions, mass graves, rape, kidnapping people’s children, _torturing_ political dissidents—”

“ _Enough_ Bucky! …Enough.” Steve looks at him reproachfully. “Of course I know. You think I don’t see it? You think I haven’t had to be a part of it? You _saw_ those death warrants on my desk.” He exhales roughly, looking down for a long second before looking back up at him again. “It disgusts me. But I’m doing what I have to do, to stop it. And no, it’s not as fast as I would like. I’d _like_ to grab a gun and shoot every one of those men that were down there. But not everything can be solved with a barrage of bullets. Not everything. That’s not the job I was given.” He looks at Bucky sternly, hurt in his eyes so clear that Bucky can see it even through the room’s darkness. “You’re right: a lot of things aren’t fair. Just be grateful that _your_ role in the resistance let you keep your self-respect intact. Not all of us are that lucky.” He nearly hisses that last, and once he’s said it he’s quick to turn and stalk from the room.

Bucky’s left standing there, staring at the empty doorway and feeling his anger and indignation bleed slowly away. Eventually they’re replaced by something resembling remorse.


	20. Becca

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Chapter tags/warnings: reference to infanticide, infant death

As soon as they get through the mass of people holding vigil outside the emergency room doors, Bucky breathes a sigh of relief. He could tell that whatever the people were praying for, their intentions had been good, but that doesn’t change the fact that he’d gotten a weird feeling about them. Bucky’s family isn’t very religious, but he’s eleven now and it’s becoming more and more clear to him that his family is in the minority these days.

“Mommy! Are you okay?” 

Bucky looks up at Becca’s exclamation. Her small hands are supporting Winnie from the side, as she’s doubled over in pain again. Bucky hurries over to support her other side. “Mom?”

“I’m fine,” she pants, face screwed up. “It’s just another contraction. This one’s not even that bad.”

Bucky gulps. If this isn’t that bad, then he’s not looking forward to finding out what _is_. Not for the first time today, he thinks that he’s really glad it’s women who have the babies. “What should we do?” he asks his mother.

“Go over to the admissions desk and tell them we need to go up to the maternity ward,” she tells him.

“Okay.” Bucky looks around, identifies the desk and goes over. “My mom’s having a baby,” he tells the man sitting behind the counter. “We need help.” 

The man smiles gently at him. “Okay son, where is she?”

Bucky points back to where Becca and Winnie are standing, and the man nods. “Okay. Let’s get your mom a wheelchair and you guys can head upstairs. Sound good?”

Bucky sighs in relief, glad to have another grown up to finally help with this. “Yeah, thank you.”

-

Bucky walks back from the ice machine in the hallway, cup of ice in one hand and cell phone in the other. It’s his mom’s phone. She’d shoved it at him as another contraction hit and told him to figure out where Clair and Trudy were. He hangs up from the phone call and passes the room with the big windows and all of the little plastic cribs where they keep the new babies. There’s a man in black army clothes who stands outside of the door to that room. He has a gun on his belt and a serious expression on his face. Bucky’s seen him a few times. When he’d asked his mother about it, she’d told him that the man was there to protect the new babies. Bucky’s not sure what the babies need protecting from, but the man still makes him nervous. 

He gets back to their room and sees that Winnie is resting again. She looks exhausted, but she does ask him what he found out. Bucky brings the ice over to her. “Here.”

“Thanks baby.”

“Trudy’s home and Clair’s at that guy’s house,” he tells her, wrinkling his nose at the last. Clair has been dating some high-school guy for the past month or so and nobody in the family really likes him, Bucky least of all. He doesn’t like that he treats him like a little kid. Bucky is _not_ a little kid. He’s eleven. “I didn’t tell them to come here,” he tells his mom. “Was I supposed to?”

Winnie is crunching some of the ice, eyes closed. She shakes her head. “No. Don’t need any more bodies in this room.”

Becca snorts. She’s sitting next to the bed on the recliner. “How long till the baby comes out?” she asks, looking somewhat enthusiastic. She’s viewed Winnie’s whole pregnancy with a sense of wonder, since as the youngest Barnes sibling and only seven at that, she doesn’t know much about baby-making. All she’s been interested in the past six months is watching Winnie’s stomach grow and hoping that she’ll get a say in what they name her new little brother or sister.

“I don’t know sweetie,” Winnie tells her. “Hopefully soon.” She looks at Bucky. “Why don’t you go and see if you can find that nurse?”

“Okay.” Bucky stands back up, then looks warily to his mother. “Um, should I call dad and let him know?”

Winnie’s lips tighten. “No. Just get the nurse.”

-

By early evening, Winnie is holding a pink-bundled baby in her arms, and Bucky is only mildly traumatized. He hadn’t known that babies came out all covered in gunk. He certainly hadn’t known that they came out _attached_ to something. 

They’ve cleaned the baby up by now at least. Winnie is holding the baby and staring down at it. Bucky glances up to the nurse who’s still standing in the corner of the room, marking stuff down on her clipboard. “What’s wrong with it?” he asks her. The nurse blanches, and Winnie looks up sharply at him. 

“There’s nothing wrong with her,” she snaps at him. “She’s your baby sister.”

Bucky draws into himself. “I know. I just wondered…”

“You just let the doctors worry about that,” Winnie says. “Come on over here and say hello.”

Bucky swallows and does so. He looks down at the baby’s face, taking note again how tiny she looks, all shrunken-in and fragile. Bucky’s no expert, but he’s kind of sure that babies aren’t supposed to look like that. Winnie doesn’t want to talk about it, but Bucky’s not stupid; ever since the baby came out and the doctor saw it, the nurses have been buzzing around and whispering about tests that they have to do. Bucky’s heard about babies being born with health problems. He’s heard about how a lot of babies die. But he’d always thought that that happened sooner. He’d thought that since his mom made it all the way to nine months, that she’d be safe. That the baby would be okay. He looks back down to the little baby girl, then back up at his mom. She’s smiling like nothing’s wrong, so Bucky decides to try and trust that, despite the harried-looking nurse in the corner of the room.

Becca is oblivious. She just asks, “Can we call her Queen Elsa?”

-

The next day, a lady in a skirted business suit comes to see them. She’s got a visitor’s tag, pearls, and an-overly friendly smile. “Hello,” she greets, holding out her hand for Winnie to shake. Winnie does so, but she looks weirdly at the woman. 

“Who are you?” Becca asks. It’s quite clear that the woman isn’t a doctor or a nurse.

The woman smiles at Becca. “I’m Lacy. What’s your name?”

“Rebecca.”

“Well it’s nice to meet you Rebecca.”

“I’m sorry, but who are you?” Winnifred asks. She’s not holding the baby right now—the doctors had taken it away for tests earlier. 

The woman turns her attention to Winnifred. If possible, her smile gets even wider. Bucky doesn’t like it. “I’m Lacy Cooper,” she says. “I work with the Daughters of Jacob Charity League.”

Winnie’s eyes widen. “Oh.”

“We do a lot of work with the hospital, counseling new mothers.”

“Oh well, I’m not new to this,” Winnie says. “I’ve already got four children. I know what I’m doing.”

Something in Lacy’s expression tightens, though her smile stays in place. “I’m sure. But I wanted to talk to you about your newest child.”

“Elsa,” Becca says.

“We haven’t decided on a name yet,” Winnie corrects her sternly. She looks back at Lacy. “What’s there to talk about?” She doesn’t sound overly-friendly, and this more than anything makes Bucky pay closer attention to what’s going on.

“Well, your child has been born with some health complications, as you know.”

Winnifred’s lips thin, and she says, “Yes. The doctors are handling that.”

“Mmhm. Tell me, Mrs. Barnes…” she tilts her head. “It _is_ Mrs., isn’t it?”

“Yes.”

“I see. Where is your husband today, if you don’t mind me asking?”

Winnie’s expression darkens. “He’s at work.”

“He didn’t come to see his new baby?”

“I don’t see how that’s any of your business, but no. We’re currently separated.”

Lacy nods. “I see. You plan on divorcing?”

“Why are you asking this?” Lacy reaches into her pocket and pulls out a pamphlet. She hands it to Winnie. One look down at it and Winnie’s expression turns to stone. “What the hell is this?”

“My organization works with families to come to decisions on making sure their babies have the best care possible,” Lacy says. “Including a suitable home and family life.”

“We _have_ a suitable home and family life,” Winnie says, voice dark.

“Mom, what’s going on?” Bucky asks.

“Nothing sweetie, Ms. Cooper just came to give us some literature. Now she’s leaving.”

“Does your family attend church services, Ms. Barnes?”

Winnie looks murderously at the woman. “It’s _Mrs._ , and no as a matter of fact. We don’t. We’re Jewish.”

Bucky stares at the woman, finally piecing together what’s happening. She’s asking his mom about being married, and about church, and she’d said she was with the Daughters of Jacob. Bucky’s heard about that before. For the first time, he stands up. “Hey, why are you here bothering my mom?” he asks.

Lacy spares him the briefest of glances before looking back to Winnie. “Mrs. Barnes, I mean no offense. We just want to make sure you know about all of your options. Your daughter is going to have a lot of health complications, and my organization wants to make sure all babies are placed in _suitable_ home environments.”

Winnifred crumples up the pamphlet that the woman had handed her and tosses it to the ground. “She _has_ a suitable home environment. Now get out before I have you thrown out!”

The woman gasps and huffs, but she does leave the room after that. Bucky and Becca are left to worriedly ask their mother about what has just happened, and Winnifred gives them a long, detailed talk about ‘certain types of people’. 

-

Bucky’s little sister passes away before they leave the hospital. George shows up to take them home, and a grief-stricken Winnie tells Becca that they can call the baby Elsa after all.

.oOo.

Bucky startles awake to a hand jostling his shoulder. “Bucky, wake up.”

His eyes shoot open. “Whaa?” It’s Steve. He’s looming over him, face tense in the early morning light. “Get up and get dressed. We have to go somewhere.” He doesn’t stick around, and Bucky is left to blink confusedly at the ceiling to his room. He remembers the night before, how he’d argued with Steve and they’d parted on bad terms. Frowning, he hefts himself out of bed and gets dressed.

Steve is waiting impatiently at the bottom of the stairs when Bucky comes down. He doesn’t say anything to Bucky when he sees him, just turns and heads for the front door. Bucky gulps, not liking how serious Steve seems. He must still be pissed about their conversation, Bucky thinks. He watches with a sense of trepidation as Steve grabs his coat from the hall closet, then grabs Bucky’s red cloak as well and hands it to him. “Come on,” he tells him tersely, and goes to open the door.

In the car, Steve sits in the front seat. Clint’s driving and Bucky sits in the back. There’s a heavy silence filling the car which Bucky feels he cannot break. He stares at Steve’s back as they drive, worrying over how tense he seems and where the heck he’s hurrying them off to this early in the morning. By Bucky’s estimate it can’t be any later than seven o’clock. When it seems as though Steve isn’t going to make any attempt at conversation, Bucky just sighs and fixes his gaze out the window, watching the streets pass by as they drive. 

They drive for maybe twenty minutes before the car slows, and Bucky feels his guts clench as he sees the chain link fences and realizes where they are. “Steve,” he says worriedly. “Steve I’m sorry.” Steve doesn’t say anything back and Bucky’s heart sinks. They’re at the red center. Steve is returning him.

Steve gets out of the car first and by the time Clint lets Bucky out of the back seat, there’s already a guardian speaking with Steve at the entrance to the building, Bucky gulps, hurrying forward to try and talk to Steve. “Steve, please talk to me.”

Steve glances back to him. “Bucky, just… I have to deal with this. Just be quiet, okay?”

Bucky bites his lip, feeling defeated. “Sure,” he says. If Steve doesn’t want him, if he’s already made up his mind to bring him back here, what can Bucky really say to change his mind? What would really be the point? He follows Steve into the building as the guardian leads them through the halls of the former high school. Bucky hates seeing it again, being here again. He feels in shock that this is what it’s come to, that Steve is apparently so upset with him that he’s brought him back here with no warning, no discussion. Bucky had thought they’d been closer than that. 

Apparently not.

“The director’s office is right through here,” the guardian tells Steve. “She’s expecting you.”

Steve nods and goes through the door to the office. Bucky follows and the guardian does nothing to stop him, so he figures he’s allowed in the room for the discussion of how he’s being returned to the red center. How nice. Inside, Aunt Lydia is sitting behind the desk. Bucky gulps when he sees her. She doesn’t look happy, and he knows that doesn’t bode well for him. Bucky wonders what sort of punishment he’ll receive for so-displeasing his commander that he’s being returned. 

“Commander Rogers,” she says, standing and holding her hand over the desk for Steve to shake. Steve does so, though he keeps it short. “Ofsteven,” Lydia says, offering him a faint smile. “Good to see you again.”

Bucky frowns, confused. “Um…” shouldn’t she be mad at him? He watches as Steve sits himself down in one of the chairs that faces the desk, and at Aunt Lydia’s nod, Bucky sits as well. “What’s going on?” he asks warily. “Am I… am I being returned?”

Steve inhales sharply, his attention shooting to Bucky in an instant. “What?” his features pinch into something resembling distress, and then regret. “Oh, Bucky no. That’s not what this is.” He reaches out and places his hand on Bucky’s shoulder. “Oh, god. I’m an idiot. I should’ve told you.”

“Told me what?”

Aunt Lydia clears her throat. She’s sat herself down in the desk chair and she’s regarding their interaction with a stern set to her face. “Perhaps we can discuss the matter at hand?” She nods at Bucky. "I see you brought him with you."

Steve’s attention shifts to her. He removes his hand from Bucky and faces forward. Once again, he seems tense. “Yes. They said it might be helpful to have an omega presence.” He regards her seriously. “They said on the phone that you had her here?”

“What?” Bucky says, unable to keep himself quiet. He feels very confused. If they’re not here about him then what the heck is going on? “‘Her?’” he asks. 

“Be quiet Ofsteven,” Aunt Lydia snaps. “This doesn’t concern you.” Bucky knows he should feel relief at that, but he just frowns even more. He has to force himself to keep his mouth shut and not demand Steve tell him what the hell is going on. Aunt Lydia looks back at Steve. “Yes, Commander. We have her here. We haven’t been able to place her.”

Steve screws up his face. “It’s been over a year. You haven’t been able to place her in _fourteen_ months?”

Aunt Lydia shifts in her chair, looking uncomfortable. “Well we’ve had a lot of families come by, but with her… special situation, nobody has decided to take her home. It’s unfortunate.”

“Unfortunate?” Steve sounds mad. Bucky glances over at him nervously. “I said I’d take her months ago, but you said you had other people to take her!” 

Lydia stiffens. “We didn’t want to call you unless we had no other options.”

“And why the hell not?” Steve spits. “I could’ve been taking care of her all this time. Instead she’s been here?!”

“Please calm down Commander.” Aunt Lydia glances to Bucky, perhaps taking in his profoundly confused expression, before looking back at Steve. “Before she passed, the mother was adamant that the baby not go to you.”

Bucky blanches, shocked at the mention of a baby. Suddenly, he realizes what this is. He looks over at Steve and sees how upset he is. His mind floats back to that first night of his heat, how Steve had told him about his previous vessel and how she’d been pregnant. “You have his baby here?” he blurts.

“Be quiet Ofsteven,” Lydia tells him. Bucky huffs, but when Steve doesn’t intervene, he sits back in his chair. Steve, for his part, seems shocked at what Lydia’s told him.

“She didn’t want me to have the baby?”

Lydia purses her lips. “No. She said you were unfit.”

“What… what exactly did she say?” Steve asks, sounding nervous. Bucky glances over at him, can see that he’s gone a little pale. And then Bucky realizes that Steve is worried he’s been outed as a non-believer. He _had_ told Bucky that the girl figured that out about him, and that’s why she’d wanted to go back to the red center. Suddenly, Bucky feels afraid too. Are they going to take him away from Steve? He looks back to Aunt Lydia, hoping that that’s not what this is. 

“She was adamant that you not get the baby,” Lydia repeats. “She wouldn’t say why, but she made her wishes quite clear.”

“So instead you’ve been keeping her here?” Steve fumes. “Without any family at all? Why didn’t you tell me?! I would’ve taken her.”

Aunt Lydia folds her hands atop the desk, looking at Steve suspiciously. “Her attitude was concerning to me. I needed to make sure.”

“Make sure of what?”

“Commander… are you attracted to children?”

Steve freezes. Bucky does too, at the question that’s just been asked. “…Excuse me?” Steve says, sounding as if the air’s been punched out of him. If he’d thought that being asked if he was a non-believer was the worst thing that could’ve happened here, well, it wasn’t. “What did you just say?”

Aunt Lydia firms her jaw. “As I said: the mother’s insistence was concerning to me. She very much did not want you to have custody of the child once it was born, and she was too uncomfortable to tell me why. I got the feeling that—”

“How could you think that?!” Bucky breaks in. Aunt Lydia seems shocked that he’s interrupted, but Bucky’s too upset to consider that he might get in trouble for his tone. “Steve? _Steve?_ He’s the last person who would _ever_ …” Bucky fumes, glancing over to Steve to see his shocked face. Bucky looks back to Aunt Lydia, feeling contempt flare up in him at the woman. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he tells her. “Steve is one of the best people I’ve ever met. He’s a good, kind man. He would _never_ hurt a child.”

Aunt Lydia looks taken-aback, but she seems to at least be listening. “Is that so?”

“Yes.” Bucky feels Steve’s hand touch his arm, and he looks over. Steve is looking at him with something like gratitude. 

“Well your vessel certainly seems to have faith in you,” Aunt Lydia says. Surprisingly, she seems to be taking Bucky’s defense of Steve to heart. “And we’ve already interviewed your household staff. They spoke highly of you as well.”

“What?” 

Aunt Lydia shrugs. “Well I had to be sure, Commander. Nobody else wants this child.”

Steve tenses at that. “You haven’t told me why.”

“Well I should think that would be obvious,” Aunt Lydia says. “She’s defective.”

Steve _growls_. Bucky can instantly smell the aggression coming off him. It makes him want to reach out and comfort him, but he holds himself back. “She has Down Syndrome,” Steve snaps. “She’s not defective.”

Aunt Lydia frowns. “Babies like her are usually considered shredders.”

Bucky blanches. He’s never heard a caretaker use that term before. He can see Steve reacting similarly where he sits. “You would’ve killed her?” Bucky astounds. Surely not. Surely even The Faithful… “But you didn’t.”

“The girl tested as omega.” Lydia tells him, and for once she’s speaking to Bucky instead of Steve. “Since her mother was fertile, she stands a better than average chance of being able to bear children herself.”

Bucky feels sick. “But…” _Oh god_ , he thinks. Aunt Lydia is actually serious. “She’s… you wouldn’t…”

“If she can serve as a vessel, that trumps her disability. She can still be useful,” Aunt Lydia tells him sternly. “The world needs babies.”

“You can’t be serious,” Steve says. 

“You’d force a disabled girl to have babies?” Bucky astounds, the urge to get up and smack Aunt Lydia growing ever more insistent. Again, he’s astounded. He’d thought he’d heard the worst of it. Had thought nothing much could trump Jenny’s hand being cuffed to a stove, her baby taken away. Again, he was wrong. “Is that why you haven’t killed her? You’re just going to wait until she’s eighteen and hand her off to some—"

“Eighteen?” Lydia scoffs. “We won’t have to wait that long.”

“What the fuck does that mean?”

“Vessels can be placed as early as fourteen.” She says it smugly, as if instead of being outrageous, it’s perfectly acceptable. She’s baiting them, and it works.

Bucky shoots up from his seat, enraged and ready to throttle the woman, but Steve grabs him and holds him back. Bucky tugs against him, getting nowhere. “Stop it Bucky,” Steve tells him, voice like steel. Bucky just growls and Steve tells Aunt Lydia, “Where is she? We’re taking her home with us.”

.oOo.

The car ride home is much better than the ride in had been. Steve hands the baby to Bucky, who gets up into the car with her. Once he’s tossed the small bag of clothes and other items that the caretakers had given them into the trunk, Steve gets in the car’s backseat as well, sitting close to Bucky. Clint gets one look at their added passenger and looks back at them to grin confusedly and say, “What the fuck?”

“Language,” Steve warns. He’s still not happy from their encounter with Lydia, and Bucky leans against his side to comfort him. “This is Hannah’s baby,” Steve tells Clint. When the other man just looks at him in confusion, he elaborates, “You know: Ofsteven. The… the _first_ Ofsteven.”

Clint blinks. “Oooh. Huh, I never knew her real name.”

“Let’s get home, yeah?” Steve says. He’s terse but he’s obviously not aiming anything Clint’s way, so Clint just nods and puts the car into drive.

Bucky holds the baby with his one arm and looks carefully over at Steve. “Hey,” he says. He’s speaking quietly because they’d only just gotten the baby to stop crying and now she’s looking sleepy and he’s really hoping she’ll just fall asleep. “You okay?” he asks.

Steve looks over. “No. I can’t believe this.” He glances at the baby, who is awake but just barely, blinking sleepy eyes at them. “I can’t believe nobody wanted her.”

Bucky bites his lip. “…You did.”

“Huh, yeah. And a fat lot of good I did her for the first fourteen months of her life.”

Bucky frowns. He wants to reach out and comfort Steve, but with the baby in his arm he can hardly do that. “It wasn’t your fault,” he says instead, trying to ease Steve’s guilt with his words. “They told you they had families lined up for her to go to. They didn’t tell you anything until now.”

“I should’ve insisted she come home with me,” Steve is still ruminating. “The minute I found out that Hannah delivered successfully I should’ve taken her home with me. But they told me that they could find her a better family; a home with two parents who would love her and know how to deal with her disability. Ugh,” he scrubs his face with his hands. “I was weak. I didn’t want to deal with it and I just went along with it. I should’ve _insisted_ —”

“Hey.” Bucky stares at him. “This is not your fault. She’s okay. Look at her.” He reaffixes his hold on the sleepy baby girl in his lap, looking pointedly at her fat face, her slow, easy breathing. “She’s fine. She’s been cared for. And now you can give her a home.”

Steve huffs, but he does relax back into his seat next to Bucky. After a long moment he reaches over and runs a hand over the top of the baby’s head, ruffling the fine blonde strands of her hair. “She’s so small,” he says, voice quiet. He lets his hand slip from her head and down to Bucky’s shoulder. “What are we going to call her?” he wonders. “They didn’t name her.”

Bucky tries not to let his face go angry at that. How fucking ridiculous, he thinks, that anyone could let a baby go over a year with no name. It makes him all the more grateful that they’ve taken her away from that place. “You taking suggestions?” he asks.

Steve smiles softly. “If you’ve got any good ones.”

“Mm.” Bucky thinks about the baby sister he’d had that’d died. He remembers how Becca had wanted to name her Elsa. The memory makes his lips turn up in a smile. “Well… what about Becca?” he suggests.

“Becca?”

Bucky blushes and looks back down at the little girl. She’s got her mouth open now, drooling lightly against his shirt. “Yeah. Rebecca. It’s my sister’s name.” He peeks back up at Steve. “What do you think?”

Steve looks thoughtful, and then he smiles. “Rebecca Rogers. Becca Rogers. I like it.”

Bucky feels warmth fill him. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

There’s a long, happy moment of silence where they both stare at each other, before Clint finally busts in to say, “Okay, _what_ happened?”


	21. How Lovers Do

When they pull into the driveway and get out, Rollins is outside. It’s immediately apparent that he’s going somewhere. He’s dumping a duffle bag and a rifle case into the trunk of an idling sedan, another Guardian of The Faith sitting tight-lipped and ominous behind the wheel. When Rollins sees them he pauses. His eyes narrow in on the baby in Bucky’s hold. “Hang on a sec,” he tells the car’s driver, then walks over. 

“What’s going on?” Steve asks him.

“Reports are coming in of skirmishes in the city. More than we’ve seen in half a year. They’re calling me in,” Rollins tells him. His eyes flick again to the baby, but it’s brief and when Steve makes a questioning noise Rollins adds, “I’ll be in D.C. for the next couple of days, at least.”

“Be safe,” Steve says. Rollins just gives a curt nod and turns for the car. 

Steve, Clint and Bucky watch it leave down the driveway and turn down the street. Clint’s the first one to speak, muttering, “Hope he gets caught in the crossfire.”

Neither Steve nor Bucky say anything, but eventually Bucky huffs, shifting the baby in his hold. “It’s cold out here. Need to get her inside.”

In Steve’s office, Bucky sinks down into the couch, mindful not to jostle Becca and wake her. But she’s sound asleep and when he lays her down on the couch cushions and wiggles her out of her coat, she doesn’t so much as twitch. Steve is standing to the side, hand on the back of the other couch but not sitting down. He’s staring at baby Becca with that same look of wonder and worry that he’s had since they left the red center. “What the heck are we going to do?” he says, ostensibly asking Bucky, since he’s the only other one in the room. “How are we going to…” he trails off, only huffing. “How am I going to do this?”

Bucky looks over at him, trying to be reassuring. “You’ll do what every new parent on the face of the earth does; figure it out as you go along.”

Steve grunts, as if this is hardly a satisfactory answer, and Bucky gets up and goes over to him. He takes Steve’s hand in his and gives it a squeeze. “Hey,” he says. “Look at me.” Steve does, blue eyes looking vulnerable. “I’ll help you,” he tells him. “You’re not alone. You’ve got me, and Natasha and Sam and Sharon and Clint.” He smirks. “If six people working together can’t figure out how to take care of a baby girl, then I think it’s pretty clear why the human race is dying out.”

Steve snorts and looks down at his feet. “Yeah. Yeah you’re right.” He looks over at where Becca is laid out on the couch, asleep. “We don’t have anything for her,” he says, sounding worried. “Where’s she going to sleep?”

Bucky nods, separating himself from Steve and going over to the desk. He sits himself in the desk chair and picks up a pen, hovering it over a pad of paper. At Steve’s raised eyebrow he just says, “What? It’s not like I forgot how to do it. Rollins is gone for now so it’s not like I’m going to lose a…” he pauses and looks down at himself critically, “… _another_ hand. And we need to make a list of things we need.” He nods at the baby. “For her. So let’s get going.”

“Um…” Steve shuffles in place, looking unsure. “A crib?”

Bucky would roll his eyes at the fact that Steve’s made it a question, but it’s kind of adorable how out of his depth he looks, so Bucky writes down “nursery furniture” on the notepad without making any comment. He adds “baby foods,” as well. The diaper bag they’d been given had had a bottle and formula in it, but Bucky knows from the child-rearing classes he’d been forced to take in high school that babies over a year old should be eating solid foods. Just another good reason they’d gotten her out of the red center when they had, he thinks. A bit more contemplation and “Diaper stuff,” and “clothes: 14-24 mos.,” get added as well. 

“Should we get her toys?” Steve asks. Bucky hums an affirmation and jots that down. He adds other items as he goes, building on the list by trying to remember all of the baby crap that had crowded the apartment after Becca was born. He writes until he can’t think of anything else off the top of his head. Rolling out from the desk, he tears off the page and hands it to Steve to review. He watches as Steve’s eyes track over the paper,

He finishes reading and looks up at Bucky with a funny expression. “‘Baby booger-sucker’?” he asks.

“Well I don’t know what the hell they’re actually called.”

Steve snorts. Just then, Natasha arrives. “Wow,” she says, taking in the form of the little girl sleeping on Steve’s couch. “So that’s her, huh?”

“Yeah.” Steve walks over and hands her the list that Bucky made. “We figure she needs some things.”

Natasha takes a very quick look at the list and raises an eyebrow. “Not sure how long this’ll take,” she says. “Baby Depot went out of business a long time ago, if you know what I mean.”

“Can you get it all?” Bucky asks.

Natasha gives him a wink and pockets the list. “Let me use your computer Steve.” Steve nods and steps out of the way for her to round the desk. She makes herself comfortable in the desk chair as she logs in, and then she’s looking at him expectantly. “Going to need your credit card too, Daddy.”

Bucky laughs and Steve blanches at being called ‘Daddy’, but he does manage to dig out his wallet and hand over the requested card. “Get good-quality stuff,” he tells her after a beat, “Nothing cheap.”

Natasha doesn’t even look up at him, hands clacking away at the keyboard. “On it,” she says. Not for the first time, her approach to domestic tasks makes Bucky think that Natasha is probably very efficient at… whatever it is she does for the resistance. 

“Bucky,” Steve says quietly, grabbing his attention. Bucky looks over and sees that Steve has picked up Becca and is holding her in his arms. Bucky gulps, taken-aback by how much it affects him to see Steve—big, strong, alpha Steve—holding a baby. His insides do something squirmy and confusing at the sight, mind immediately skipping to the thought of what Steve would look like, holding _Bucky’s_ baby. Bucky coughs once and has to physically force himself not to reach down to touch his stomach. He still doesn’t know, not for sure, and they’ve got more pressing concerns right now anyhow. “Um,” Steve says, perhaps noticing the weird expression on Bucky’s face. “We should get her settled. Best we can, leastways.”

“Yeah,” Bucky says, shaking himself out of whatever primally-motivated mindset he’d just slipped into. “Yeah, sure.” He thinks about how tired Steve looks, how overwhelmed, and figures that maybe it’s a good idea if he can get Steve a little bit of time to rest and take in all that’s happened in the past few hours. “We could ah, go find Sharon? See if she wants to watch her for a bit?” He looks Steve over assessingly. “You look exhausted. We could probably both use a nap.”

Steve’s shoulders relax. “Yeah,” he says, sounding relieved. “Okay yeah, let’s do that.” He holds the baby gently but unsurely as he follows Bucky from the room to go and find Sharon.

.oOo.

Upstairs, Bucky doesn’t wait for Steve to invite him in. Steve’s not really paying attention to him, Bucky can tell, so he just trails after him and shuts the doors to close them both into the quiet of the master bedroom. He turns around and sees Steve standing by the foot of the bed, shoulder leaning heavily against one of its tall posts. He’s looking off into space, clearly deep in thought. He looks tired, overwhelmed from a day that’s thrown so much at them even before noon. 

Bucky walks slowly over, focusing on the expression on Steve’s face. “Hey,” he says softly, not very surprised when Steve startles a little at the sound of his voice. He hadn’t even noticed Bucky in the room with him. Jeeze. “You going to be alright?” he asks.

“I guess,” he says. “I just… I really should’ve done this this differently. I should’ve done better. For her.” He looks down at the carpet, angry. “Some father I am.”

Bucky can see that Steve’s blaming himself for something that is out of his control. He can see it shrouding his features, darkening his face like a storm. “Hey,” he soothes, going in front of him and laying his hand on his chest. “Stop it. You’re a good man, Steve. Don’t beat yourself up over this. It’s going to be okay.”

Steve looks at him then, _really_ looks at him. “You defended me,” he says softly, remembering. “To that woman.”

“Aunt Lydia,” Bucky supplies.

“You stood up for me.”

“She was saying terrible things about you. She needed to know.”

Steve looks at him tenderly. “Needed to know?” he repeats.

“There’s a lot of fucking evil in this world, Steve,” Bucky tells him sternly. He trails his hand from Steve’s chest, up to his face, palming his jaw. “There’s A LOT of it these days. I don’t blame Aunt Lydia for expecting to find something else to add to the list of everything that’s awful, but she needed to know that it’s not you.” He stares at Steve meaningfully. “You’re one of the few good things left.” He leans in and kisses him, no thought or care put into it, just pressing their lips together in a quick, light kiss. When he pulls back and hears the shaky breath that Steve exhales, Bucky reiterates. “You’re the _best_ thing left. And I’m sorry I said you weren’t. I’m sorry I gave you shit about what you do. I know it’s a sacrifice and I know it can’t be easy. I was just so upset.” Tentatively, he lifts his eyes to meet Steve’s gaze. “I care about you. I don’t want to hurt you. I want… I want to make you feel good.”

Steve’s lips part. “Bucky…” 

Bucky surges in and crushes their mouths together, this time staying there and putting meaning into it. He curls his fingers into the short hairs at the nape of Steve’s neck and holds him that way, leaning against his chest to feel him more solidly. Steve’s shudder is easy to feel through the connection of their bodies. Steve’s hands land on his hips. “Buck?” he says when they part from the kiss. “What are you doing?”

Bucky doesn’t have the courage to pull back and make himself look Steve in the eyes. Instead he rubs his thumb at the base of Steve’s skull and pecks a kiss against his chin. “I’m making you feel good,” he says, voice terribly quiet but still somehow firm. He doesn’t give Steve room to protest, just releases his hold on his neck and starts to sink down to his knees. Steve inhales sharply when he realizes what Bucky’s doing, but he doesn’t say anything. Bucky’s sure he’d tell him to shut the fuck up if he tried. “And you’re going to let me,” he tells Steve, projecting authority into his voice. “Rollins just left. He’s gone for a couple of days at least. And you’re tired and stressed-out, and I want to make you feel good, and I’m going to. Right now.” The fact that Steve doesn’t argue when Bucky gets to his knees on the carpet in front of him says a lot, Bucky thinks. Steve just breathes a little heavy as he watches Bucky reach up to undo his belt. “Take off your jacket,” he tells him, pulling the belt from its loops once he gets the buckle undone. Steve swallows audibly but he does as instructed. His shirt being removed from his body makes a wave of his pheromones hit the air, and Bucky nearly whimpers at the smell of him. “God,” he huffs, feeling himself twitch in his underwear at the obvious sign of Steve’s arousal. He grabs Steve’s hand and brings it to his fly, making it clear that Steve should undo his own pants. Bucky doesn’t have the patience for tackling the job with his one hand. He just wants to get his mouth on Steve’s cock. He can already see it there, firming up underneath the layers of Steve’s clothes.

“Are you sure?” Steve asks, even as he undoes his pants and pushes them down. “You don’t have to—”

“Steve?” Bucky looks up at him warningly. “Shut up.” He yanks Steve’s underwear down and pushes his face against his cock.

-

Bucky’s wet. Soaking wet. Getting down on his knees for Steve and bringing him so close to the edge, hearing all of his pleasured grunts and feeling his hands in his hair as he very admirably tried not to fuck Bucky’s face, has gotten him completely aroused. Bucky’s hard in his pants and he honestly didn’t know he could get this far without touching himself, not outside of heat, at least. But Steve just… does it for him. Bucky loves seeing him so turned-on, and knowing that _he_ did it. He stops blowing Steve, not wanting him to come yet, and tells him to lie down on the bed. He waits until Steve has obeyed his command before standing and divesting himself of his own clothes. He watches the way Steve’s eyes become hooded at the sight of his naked body, the way his hands flatten against the covers and his throat bobs with a swallow. It makes Bucky’s heart lurch. He’s not used to being looked at with desire like this, not since losing his arm. He reaches down to give himself an indulgent stroke, very much keyed into the fact that Steve’s eyes follow the movement. “You want me?” he asks, stepping closer to the bed.

“Bucky, fuck. Yes. You smell so good.”

“Hm.” He lifts his knee up onto the mattress, climbing up and throwing a leg over Steve so that he’s straddling his thighs. He sits back, rubbing his ass against him and getting his slick on his leg in the process. “Yeah. You feel that?”

Steve groans, hands coming up to grip Bucky’s knees. His fingers dig into the skin there. “We shouldn’t,” he says.

Bucky growls. He jerks his legs so that Steve’s hands fall away. “I don’t want to hear any more of that talk from you.” He says. “No more. I’m going to take what I want, and you’re going to take it too. Whenever you want.” Steve’s eyes widen and his scent soars, and Bucky smirks. “Rollins can suck a dick.”

Steve snorts. “Bucky.”

“Shhh.” Bucky reaches forward and plants his hand on Steve’s chest, scooting himself forward until he can feel Steve’s cock against the cleft of his ass. He rubs himself backwards, purring at the feel of it. “I want to feel you inside me,” he says. “I want to take you slow and good, and I want you to relax and enjoy it. Can you do that?”

Steve shudders, but he nods. “Yeah.”

Bucky smiles at him. “Good.” He lifts up, reaching back to guide Steve to his hole. Steve gasps and his hands grab Bucky’s hips, holding him steady. When Bucky has them lined up and eases back, Steve groans at the first second of penetration. 

“Oh, fuck.”

Bucky hums and relaxes into it, sinking himself down on the other man’s cock. “Oh,” he breathes, closing his eyes as he feels his body take Steve in. “Oh, that’s…”

“So good,” Steve finishes for him.

“Mm.” Bucky opens his eyes. Steve is staring right up at him, looking completely lust-blown. 

“God,” he astounds. His fingers curl over Bucky’s hips. “You’re amazing.” His hands tense, gripping Bucky with purpose as he makes to flip them over. But Bucky leans forward and shoves him back down. 

“No,” he says, grinding down against him with meaning. “No. Like this. I want to ride you.”

“Oh my god.”

Bucky smirks, loving how hot Steve looks at such simple words. They’ve never done it this way and it looks like the alpha is very much turned-on by the idea of Bucky riding him. _Good_ , Bucky thinks. Because he fully intends to come on top of him. He starts to move his hips, rolling back just enough to get Steve’s cock dragging out of him. They both groan at the feeling of it, though Steve’s noise of appreciation is admittedly louder. His fingers tighten at Bucky’s hips, holding him steady. “Bucky,” he breathes, eyes glued to him as he starts up a slow, steady grind. It’s filthy and luxurious, and Steve is staring at him like he’s some sort of god. “Fuck, that’s so good. So good baby.”

Buck has to bite his lip at hearing Steve call him that. He’s let pet names like that slip before, when they’d had sex during Bucky’s heat. Bucky has tried not to read too much into it, has told himself that Steve is just the type of guy to babble that kind of shit in the heat of the moment. But still, as he writhes on top of Steve and fucks him just the way he wants, Bucky can’t help but to indulge in the fantasy of being Steve’s. Of _really_ being his. “Yeah?” he asks him, breath shaky from his movements. “You like that? Like when I take what I want?”

Steve’s eyes darken even further, if possible. “Yeah Buck. You look so good. You’re so hot. Fuck.” His fingers tense and for the first time he lets his eyes slip shut. Beneath him, Bucky can feel Steve’s hips tensing over and over in little pulses. 

“That’s it,” he purrs, bending down to lick over the seam of Steve’s lips and then kiss him softly. “Just enjoy it. Relax.”

Steve grunts in agreement, not opening his eyes. He’s so obviously feeling good, and Bucky thrills at the sight of it. He’s so goddamn handsome, Bucky can barely stand it. He tilts his head and bites at Steve’s neck, teeth just barely scraping over Steve’s bonding gland. That pulls a tortured moan from Steve’s lips and makes Bucky smirk against his skin. The smirk is replaced by a gasp, however, when he feels Steve grip him harder, his big hands wrapping around his back and holding him fast against his chest as he thrusts up into him, fast and rough. Bucky groans and pants against him, unable to do anything besides take it. “Fuck,” he curses, panting. “Fuck, fuck.” Steve keeps fucking him like that for a long moment, and when he stops Bucky pulls away just enough to smash their mouths together. He pours all of the passion he feels for the other man into the kiss, letting Steve lick into his mouth, messy and wet. Bucky’s tongue meets his and they roll their mouths together in time with their hips. It feels so good, perfect, and Bucky can’t help but to whine low in his throat when Steve pulls back. 

He pushes Bucky back up to sitting, eyes heavy with lust. “Go on,” he tells him, sounding breathless and eager. “Take it. Wanna watch you make yourself come.”

Bucky groans at those words. He plants his hand on top of Steve’s where it holds his hip and he squeezes their fingers together. Steve locks eyes with him and Bucky is unable to tear his gaze away as he resumes riding him, undulating his hips and rolling onto his cock again, and again, rhythm steady but not rushed. Bucky knows he’ll get there, knows Steve will too, and it feels too fucking good to rush it and have it be over. The room is sweltering and Bucky drinks in the sight of Steve, panting and looking up at him like he’s in fucking love, like it’s a drug. It’s intoxicating. Bucky feels himself inch closer to orgasm. 

“Fuck, Steve. I’m close.” 

“Yeah?” Steve’s hips thrust up into him with purpose, his eyes looking fierce as he tells him. “Come on Buck, I want to see you come.”

Bucky pants, thighs burning but unwilling to stop. He rocks against Steve, fucking down onto him harder and angling his cock inside his body so that it rubs him _just_ right. He groans at the pleasure of it, feeling it tighten in the base of his spine, in his balls. “ _Fuck_ ,” he hisses, squeezing his eyes shut as he gets so, so close. “ _Ah_.” 

He’s right there, right on the edge and rolling down onto Steve frantically, and when he feels Steve’s hand wrap around his cock and start fisting him in time with his thrusts, Bucky’s done for. He shouts, hips stuttering from their rhythm as his orgasm crashes over him, the backs of his eyelids flashing white and his release spurting out onto Steve’s chest. Bucky hears Steve’s groan of appreciation and he opens his eyes to see the mess he’s made on the alpha’s chest. It’s a gorgeous sight. “Fuck,” he huffs. He meets Steve’s eyes. The other man looks totally gone for him. 

“Bucky,” he pants. “That was… fuck.” He grabs Bucky and flips him over so suddenly that there isn’t anything Bucky can do about it. Not that he’d want to, anyway. Bucky goes limp as a ragdoll and lets Steve manhandle him until Bucky’s on his stomach and Steve’s behind him, practically laying on top of him as he ruts into him furiously. He pants, hot and damp against the skin of Bucky’s back and he grips his hair with one hand, the other pressed into the sheets as he fucks him in a furious end game. Bucky just closes his eyes and lets him, too loose and sated from his orgasm to do anything more than encourage him with gentle whines and fucked-out breaths. 

It doesn’t take long until Steve is close, his hips stuttering in their pace and losing all coordination as his knot starts to grow. Bucky can feel it the second it happens, fully expects Steve to press all the way into him and allow their bodies to be locked together. But instead he pulls back at the last second, sitting back on his heels and doing what Bucky can only assume is jerking himself off onto his back. A second later confirms it as Bucky feels Steve’s come land in hot streaks across his back. It feels like he comes for _ages_ , and the proprietary act of having Steve mark him all up like that has Bucky groaning weakly into the sheets. Steve even _rubs it in_ once he’s all done, and then he flops down right next to him, onto his back where Bucky’s on his front. They both turn their heads at the same time to look at each other, great, satisfied huffs leaving them at the exact same moment. They’re obviously thinking the same thing, and Bucky voices it first by saying, “ _Fuck_.”

Steve exhales an abortive laugh. “Yeah.”

“Uuugh.” Bucky grinds his face into the bed. “Fucking hell. That was so good.” Steve’s hand appears in Bucky’s hair, petting him. Bucky peeks his eyes open to regard him. “You liked that?”

Steve smiles at him, and this time it’s tender. “Yeah Buck. I loved it. You’re amazing.” He leans over and kisses him, lightly and slow. When he pulls back his eyes are already closed again. He lets his head fall back into the covers. “Thank you.”

Bucky smiles, unseen by Steve. “You’re welcome Steve,” he says, only barely managing to not say, _“I love you,”_ as well.


	22. Blueberry

Bucky stares into the mirror in the hall bathroom. The little bathroom attached to his room doesn’t have a mirror, so he’s in the hall bathroom on the second floor. He looks at his reflection as he’s got his shirt’s modest neckline pulled down, considering all the bare, unblemished skin. He’s unbonded. It’s not something he’s thought about much before. _Before_ , it’d been normal for people to not bond until they were married, and sometimes not even then, if they were liberal. The sorts of omegas who hyphenated their names usually held off on bonding. Bucky hadn’t intended to get married any time soon (hell, he’d been in college after all), but he’d never imagined that he’d be a name-hyphenator. He’d always imagined, however vaguely, that he’d have a scar on his neck one day. It was what all little omega boys and girls played pretend about, after all; having a wife or husband, an Alpha prince or princess who married them and made them theirs. 

Bucky scoffs at his reflection, pinching none-too-kindly at the skin over his scent gland. He can’t believe anybody ever fantasized about belonging to someone else. Can’t believe _he_ did. What a crock of shit. Belonging to somebody else wasn’t a romantic fairytale, it sucked. Viciously, he thinks about all of the religious people in the country who might’ve been glad, initially at least, when Gilead happened. _“America needs more babies,”_ they’d said. _“A return to traditional values. Save the environment, save the human race!”_ He thinks of the conservative pundits who’d squawked on t.v., of the men and women who’d coined the term “domestic omegaist" and touted themselves as such. He wonders if they’d ever imagined a world where they couldn’t author their stupid books anymore, where they couldn’t even fucking _read_. Viciously, he hopes a lot of them are regretting it now. 

Bucky lets his collar go back up. Then he glances down, unable to keep from scrutinizing his stomach. He lifts his red shirt, considering the flat skin there. No change. It looks exactly as it had weeks ago. But Bucky’s been sick every morning now (and honestly, sometimes in the afternoon as well), and he knows. He knows he’s pregnant. He just hasn’t figured out a way to tell Steve yet. 

Steve’s been away a lot. Ever since they brought Becca home, Steve’s had to be out in D.C. almost constantly. Rollins had mentioned “skirmishes” in the city. Bucky’s not too sure what that means. The state news channel minimizes it, he’s sure; makes it seem like no big deal. Bucky’s got no way of knowing how bad the fighting really is. He hopes it’s bad, because maybe that means change is coming. Bucky yearns to be a part of it, to have his rifle back and be atop some building in D.C., killing guardians. Impossible, but a pretty thought anyway. 

The only thing he worries about is that the fighting is so close to where they are, to where Becca is. Bucky drops his shirt and turns from the mirror when he hears her cry from across the hallway. He leaves the bathroom and goes into the little bedroom that he’s been working on making a nursery. Sam had helped him paint it yellow, and Bucky’s made Steve promise that when he finally gets any time at home again, he’ll do a mural on the wall—old-fashioned Winnie the pooh illustrations. Bucky knows Steve is good at that sort of stuff.

He smiles when he enters the room and sees Becca. She’s pulled herself up by the bars on her crib. Her face is tear-streaked but she calms when she sees him, chubby cheeks rising in a smile. She makes a happy, gurgly sound.

“Hey you,” Bucky says, smiling at her. He goes over and picks her up. She squeals in delight and tugs at his shirt and Bucky lays her down on her play mat. He pulls her _Little Tykes_ play center over her so that she can bop at the toys that dangle from it. She won’t sit up if she’s got that to play with, and Bucky knows she won’t crawl away. Bucky has a vague conception that Becca’s behind on meeting some of her developmental milestones, but he doesn’t worry about it. She’ll do her thing when she’s ready. “You stay there while I figure this shit out,” he tells her, going over to where he’s managed to get a changing table halfway assembled. It’s slow-going with only his one arm to work with, but Bucky’s got all the free time in the world and he’ll be damned if he’s going to ask Sam for help with one more thing. He’s got screwdrivers and paper instructions. If he can break down and reassemble a Kac M110 in under four minutes, he can sure as hell figure out a fucking changing table. 

.oOo.

Bucky’s got Becca in her highchair and is trying to get her to eat some baby food. “Come on,” he coaxes, waving the spoon at her face, which she turns away from with a grimace. “You love banana-pumpkin!” Becca just whines.

Over at the dishwasher, Sharon snickers. “Leave her alone. She’s not hungry.”

Bucky glares at her. “It’s her feeding time. You have to stick to a schedule with this shit.”

Sharon just rolls her eyes and keeps loading stuff into the dishwasher. It’s then that that Rollins walks in. He looks at Sharon, then turns his attention to Bucky and the baby. “You busy?” he asks. He sounds sure that Bucky’s not. 

Bucky frowns, since Rollins hardly ever speaks to him. He usually just kind of acts like Bucky’s not there. “Um, no,” Bucky hedges. “I’m just feeding her.” He indicates Becca.

Rollins grunts. He pulls out his phone and taps it, then shows it to Bucky. He’s pulled up the calendar app. “It’s been seven weeks,” he tells him brusquely. 

Bucky stares at the phone, sees the little notation that marks October 27th. He scowls. “You’ve been tracking my heats?” He looks up at Rollins with a grossed-out expression. “Freak.” Rollins doesn’t look amused. He grabs Bucky by the arm and hauls him up from where he’s sitting. “Hey! What’re you doing?!”

“I’m taking you to the doctor,” he tells him. His tone brokers no argument.

“I’m feeding her!” Bucky snaps. 

“Sharon can do it,” Rollins says, unconcerned. He uses his grip on Bucky’s arm to move him into the front hall, where he opens the closet and pulls out Bucky’s cloak and scarf. He shoves them at him. “Put these on.”

Bucky huffs but does as instructed. No point in arguing at this point. Rollins is a hard ass and Bucky knows that he doesn’t care about his opinion at all. “This is ridiculous,” he mutters, getting no answer from Rollins for the comment. Inside, he’s kind of panicking. He still hasn’t told Steve, and he _knows_ that a test at the doctor’s is going to come up positive. He hadn’t wanted the news to come from Rollins. Steve is going to be mad. 

He gets his cloak on—ridiculous thing, makes him look like he’s going to some renaissance festival—and tosses the scarf around his neck carelessly. Rollins grunts in satisfaction and hauls him out the front door. Bucky sees that he’s already got the car pulled up to the front drive. There’s a big SUV just pulling up behind it, and Bucky’s heart leaps into his throat when he realizes that it’s Steve’s car. Clint and Steve are in the front seats. “Fuck,” Bucky breathes. 

Rollins doesn’t waste any time in forcing Bucky down the front steps, and he’s quick to open the door to his car and shove Bucky in the backseat. Bucky goes willingly, not sure what he’ll say if he’s forced to confront Steve right now. Steve has gotten out of the car and is walking over to Rollins and speaking to him. Bucky gulps, not sure if he’s glad or not that Rollins has shut the car door. He can’t hear what they’re saying, but after a moment Steve’s face turns towards the tinted back window of Rollins’ car, and his features are bled into something resembling shock. _Shit_. Bucky suddenly wants to get out of the car and explain. He grabs the door handle, but of course it won’t open from the inside. Fucking guardians and their fucking child locks. Bucky places his hand flat on the window and says, “I’m sorry. Steve, I’m sorry,” even though he knows Steve can’t hear or see him. 

After a few moments of continued conversation—during which Steve continually glances at the back window of Rollins’ car—Steve nods with a blank expression and starts walking towards the house. Bucky watches him go with a sinking feeling in his gut. _Fuck_.

Rollins comes around and gets in the car, and they’re off.

.oOo.

 _Positive_. Of course. No surprise there. Bucky doesn’t even feel anxious or annoyed at the doctor’s office like he usually would. He just spends the whole appointment itching to get back to Steve, to explain to him why he hadn’t said anything. He desperately doesn’t want Steve to be mad for being kept in the dark.

When they do get home Bucky doesn’t even bother to take his cloak off, he just chucks his scarf off and hurries straight for Steve’s office, hoping that he’ll find him there. He doesn’t, so Bucky goes upstairs to Steve’s bedroom. That’s where he is. He’s lying on his bed, dressed in sweatpants and a tee shirt. Bucky gulps at the sight of him and Steve makes eye contact. “Steve,” Bucky breathes.

“Shut the door?” Steve says. His tone is light, neutral. Bucky doesn’t know whether to draw hope from that, or dread. He does shut the door, and he goes over to Steve’s bed. When it doesn’t seem like he’ll be rejected, he takes off his cloak and drops it to the floor and sits on the bed.

“Steve,” he says again, “I’m sorry. I should’ve said something. I was going to tell you I swear I just…”

Steve tilts his head, eyes searching. “Just what?”

Bucky shrugs. “At first I wasn’t sure, you know? I wanted to be sure before I said anything. Then it was just never a good time. The ambassadors were coming, then Becca happened, and then you were away so much of the time. You’ve been in and out of the house and whenever you are here you just seem so stressed.” Bucky looks down, fiddles with a thread that’s come loose from his pants. “I didn’t know what to say.” Steve sighs, which is what makes Bucky look back up at him. He’s got his eyes closed. “Please say something,” Bucky pleads quietly. “Are you mad?”

“What?” Steve’s eyes open and he stares at Bucky. He looks genuinely confused. “Why would I be mad?”

“I didn’t tell you.”

Steve huffs, but he does sit up. He reaches for Bucky and takes his hand when he offers it. “Come here,” he says softly, tugging at Bucky’s arm until he moves up the bed to sit next to him. Steve pulls him against his side, holding him close. “I’m not mad Bucky. Not at all.”

“You’re not?”

Steve shakes his head, a motion felt against Bucky’s shoulder. “No. I’m just surprised. Overwhelmed. I just got Becca here, you know?”

Bucky looks down guiltily. “Yeah.”

“I guess the biggest thing is that I feel like an idiot,” Steve murmurs. Bucky’s eyes shoot up.

“What? Why?”

Steve smiles at him, but it’s self-deprecating. “Come on Buck. It’s been how long? Seven weeks?”

“Yeah.” Bucky huffs. “Yeah seven weeks. Guess Rollins told you that? Showed you his little calendar?”

“I should’ve noticed. I feel stupid for being so oblivious.”

“Not your problem,” Bucky says. He looks at Steve. “You’re really not mad?”

Steve smiles, genuinely smiles this time. “I could never be mad at you. Not for this. It’s what you wanted, isn’t it?”

Bucky frowns, he’s sure he does. “I… yeah. It is.”

Steve sobers. He hugs Bucky even more tightly to his side. His one hand pets gently at Bucky’s hair and Bucky sinks into it. “If there’d been another way, I would’ve helped you. If I’d known what I know now I never would’ve done it. I would’ve told you—”

“Told me what?” Bucky looks up at him. “What do you mean, ‘what you know now’?”

Steve winces. “The skirmishes in the city? The ones that I’ve been off dealing with?”

“Yeah?”

“Something’s happening,” Steve tells him. “The resistance is making their move soon. A series of coordinated attacks. I’ve gotten my orders from Shield.”

Bucky stares, stunned. He exhales roughly. “Fuck.” Excitement sweeps through him. “So you mean…”

“Yeah.” Steve nods. “Soon, hopefully, this’ll all be over. If we’re successful.” He sees Bucky’s growing smile and squeezes his fingers where they lie on his shoulder. He looks regretful once more. “If I’d known this was going to happen so soon I would have told you, you know? I wouldn’t have gotten you…” he glances down at Bucky’s stomach, though there’s nothing there to see. “I wouldn’t have gotten you pregnant,” he mumbles, looking dejected. “I know it’s not what you wanted. Not really.”

Bucky doesn’t know what to say. Steve’s right. He wouldn’t have wanted it. The only reason to have a baby in the first place had been to save his own skin. But he can’t bring himself to feel regret, not right now. All he can think about right now is the miserable expression on Steve’s face. He looks so, so guilty, and it hurts Bucky’s heart to see it. “Hey,” he says, leaning over to take Steve’s jaw in his hand. “There’s no way you could’ve known. And I asked you for it. I told you it’s what I wanted. You were just doing what I asked.”

Steve looks sad still. “Yeah. But I’m still sorry. And I can’t help feeling guilty that I actually—” he freezes, cutting himself off with a wary glance at Bucky. Bucky squints. 

“What? What were you going to say?”

Steve sighs, looks down. “I wasn’t mad when Rollins told me. The first thing I thought, after the shock wore off, was that I was happy.” He glances cautiously at Bucky, as if expecting a negative response from him. “I was happy. That was my first reaction. And I’m sorry. I know that’s awful and selfish and—”

Bucky cuts him off with a kiss, quick and hard. He moves their mouths together, just once, and draws away slowly, so slowly, letting their lips linger in the barest touch for a long moment. When he finally does pull away and meet Steve’s eyes, he says, “No.”

“No?”

Bucky shakes his head softly. “No. You’re not selfish. We… I mean _I_ ,” he frowns, unsure if he should say what he’s about to say, “…I love you.”

Steve’s lips part. “Oh.”

“—I’m sorry. I know it’s weird I just,” Bucky bites his lip, figures, _fuck it, you’ve already said it once_. “I fell in love with you. I don’t even know when, didn’t even realize it till…” he trails off, thinks about it. When _had_ he realized it? Last month? Last week? Just now? He doesn’t know. “I understand if you don’t feel that way,” he rushes out, unable to meet Steve’s eyes at this point. “It doesn’t matter. It’s not like we’re—”

Steve grabs him and kisses him, much harder than Bucky had kissed him. Bucky’s words are cut off and he exhales into the kiss, shocked at Steve’s reaction, at the bruising kiss and the way his fingers are gripping Bucky’s arm so hard. When Steve finally eases back and lets him go, his eyes hold a degree of tenderness that Bucky’s never seen in them, that he never _thought_ he’d see in them. He’s just a commander, after all. A fake one, but a commander all the same. He didn’t choose Bucky and Bucky didn’t choose him. They’d been thrown together by a system neither of them believed in. Bucky and he were never supposed to _mean_ anything to each other. They were just surviving.

Or at least, that’s what they _had been_ doing. Now, it seems, all that’s been flipped on its head. Bucky stares in wonder at Steve, not at all sure what they’re going to do now. “What,” he licks his lips—they feel tingly. “What are you thinking?”

Steve’s lips quirk. “I’m thinking I love you too.”

Fuck. “Really?” Bucky breathes, shocked because he’s only just figured this out himself. “I mean you don’t have to say that Steve. I’m a big boy. I can handle it if you—”

“Bucky? Shut up.” Steve grins at him—fucking _grins_ —and kisses him again. This time he does it for longer, doesn’t let Bucky go until he’s got him a little out of breath from it. “I knew it from the moment I gave you that letter from your family. They way you looked at me, even though it was just a letter. The way you looked at me then, I just… I felt it, then.”

Bucky’s eyes widen, he’s sure. “What? That long?” 

“You’re an amazing person Bucky. Probably the strongest person I’ve ever met. I’ve always liked you, and yes; I loved you ever since that moment.”

Bucky doesn’t know what to say. What can he possibly say to that? What can he give Steve back, for beings so… _Steve_? He falters, silent for a long moment, before finally blurting out, “A blueberry.”

Steve raises his eyebrows. “Um, what?”

Bucky grins. “A blueberry. In high school they made us take all these childrearing classes. There was this app that’d show you, like, how big a baby was every week, comparing it to stupid stuff. Fruits and vegetables. You know: poppy seeds, apples, kumquats.”

Steve laughs. “Kumquats?” He lays his hand on Bucky’s shoulder, big and warm and tender. Bucky just shrugs.

“I thought it was funny. I never forgot.”

“And your…” Steve pauses, amending, “ _Our_ baby—it’s a blueberry?”

Bucky nods. “Yeah. Seven weeks is a blueberry.”

Steve seems to like that, because he gets this dopey expression on his face and looks down at Bucky’s stomach, placing his hand on it. “A blueberry,” he repeats, sounding in awe. He glances up at Bucky. “You won’t be upset if I…” he frowns, looking for the right words, but Bucky understands.

“No, Steve. You’re allowed to be happy. It won’t upset me.”

“Yeah?”

Bucky smiles. “Yeah.”

.oOo.

They wind up making love that night, right there in Steve’s bed. They both know that Rollins is home but neither of them cares at this point, not really. The one time Bucky brings it up, Steve just kisses him and says “Fuck it. He’s got bigger things to deal with right now.” Bucky is overjoyed at Steve’s nonchalance, and he doesn’t complain at all when the next thing he does is sink down the bed to eat him out.

After, when they’re lying in each other’s arms, sweaty and sated, Steve whispers solemnly into Bucky’s hair, “We’re going to make it out of here. I promise you. We’re not going to let Becca or this baby grow up here.” He kisses the top of Bucky’s head and squeezes him tighter. “We’re going to get out.”

.oOo.


	23. Domesticity

Bucky hears his parents’ voices coming from the kitchen. It’s late. He’s supposed to be in bed, but he was thirsty and was going to try and reach the juice boxes in the fridge. He sneaks close to the corner and puts his back to the wall to listen. Mommy sounds mad. She’s speaking harshly with Daddy. 

“That’s what they said, George. There’s no room in the class. They’re _cancelling_ the class.”

“Come on, Win, there has to be somewhere she can go. It’s pre-school for Christ’s sake.”

Bucky peeks around the corner. Mommy and Daddy are at the kitchen counter. Mommy’s got a big glass of wine that she’s sipping from. “No,” she says, face pinched like she’s sad, or worried. “There aren’t any public preschools left. The few that are left don’t have slots. There just aren’t enough kids in her age group, aren’t enough teachers either apparently. Our daughter’s just going to have to grow up without an education!”

“Honey, don’t be dramatic.”

“Well I don’t know what to do, George! It isn’t like we can afford private school. Where’s she going to go, huh?” Winnie cries and picks up her wine glass to drink from it. When she sets it back down, it makes a loud clink. “My poor baby. Who’s going to teach her her abc’s and one two threes?”

Bucky frowns from his hiding place. He knows Mommy and Daddy are talking about Becca. She’s three now. Bucky wonders why there aren’t enough kids to make a preschool for his sister. There are only ten kids in Bucky’s first grade class, but he _has_ a first grade class. And _that’s_ public school, he knows. He listens in again.

“I know you don’t want to hear this, but there _are_ affordable options.”

“Oh like what? Don’t start in on your Sons of Jacob spiel again,” Winnifred warns, sounding tired. 

“They provide quality education!” George argues. 

“Yeah, along with an indoctrination.”

“We could at least consider it,” George says. “Among other things.”

Winnifred’s eyes snap over, tense. “And what’s that supposed to mean?” When her husband doesn’t reply, just looks testily down at the countertop, she presses, “ _George_?”

“Well hell, Winnie, I don’t know. Everyone and their uncle’s in a congregation these days.”

Winnie’s face darkens. “They are _not_.”

“I mean the kids _are_ half Christian from my side. If we just signed them up for one summer camp or something, maybe started going to church on Sundays… we could make some connections.”

“I’m not having this conversation with you. Not again.”

George waves his hand in the air. “It’d give us a lot more choices for them. These people run a lot of programs Win. A lot of good ones. I don’t see why you have to be so damned stubborn. The kids could have more advantages if we just started affiliating a little with—”

“With who?!” Winnie snaps. “The god-damned Sons of Jacob? The Party of the Faithful?” She laughs, though nothing about the laugh sounds funny. “We’re registered democrats, George. And you haven’t been to church since you were a teenager. We’re not _like_ them!” she practically spits. 

George, for his part, looks very put-out. He just shakes his head in frustration. “Well then I guess I’ll just take the couch tonight, _again_ ,” he says. “And I guess Rebecca just isn’t going to preschool.”

Bucky squeezes his eyes shut and wishes he’d stayed in bed. He hates it when Mommy and Daddy fight.

.oOo.

Spring. That’s what Steve tells him the verdict is. Shield has set a date and sent out the word, and the plan—whatever it is—is to be executed in April. Bucky is less than pleased. “But why?” he asks Steve when they’re alone in his bed, naked and covered by the sheets. “It’s already been two months.”

“I know Buck. I know.”

“Why can’t they act now?” Bucky’s had visions of sugarplums and retribution dancing in his head for weeks. Now Steve’s telling him that he has to wait _another_ two months for anything to happen? That’s unacceptable, in Bucky’s book. “Why?” he asks again.

Steve sighs and pulls Bucky closer to him so that he can kiss and nose at his neck. “Intel has led us to believe there will be several gaps in key Capitol security then. We have to wait for that. And we need the weather on our side if the fighting ends up being more prolonged than we hope for.”

Bucky grits his teeth but doesn’t say anything to that. He doesn’t want to be irrational, even though his hormones _are_ surging and turning him into a pissy mess most of the time these days. He’s an intelligent human being, for God’s sake. He has a military background. He of all people should be able to understand that moves like this need to be strategically planned-out. Still, he’s tense and angry that they have to wait even longer. “Snow’s two feet deep out there,” he mumbles, changing the subject. “You want to take Becca out in her sled tomorrow?”

Steve hums against him, hugging him tightly in thanks for not getting upset. “Yeah Buck, if I have time. That sounds great.”

“Nat got her a snowsuit. She’ll love it,” Bucky says, pleased and comforted by the smell of happy alpha that’s collected under the blankets.

“She will,” Steve agrees. “And I love you. You know that?”

Bucky blushes. They’ve both gotten better at saying that to one another these past few weeks. And so far, nothing terrible has happened from them sharing a bed each night. If Rollins gives a crap, he certainly hides it well. He’s hardly ever home anymore anyway, which pleases everyone to no small extent. The house is almost back to normal. Bucky’s even caught Natasha and Clint sparring in the basement a time or two, practicing their ninja skills. Once, they’d even been _knife fighting_. Bucky had backed away from that one with wide eyes, but Natasha has since promised to teach him a few skills later on.

Life is almost pleasant and Bucky is happier than he’s been in years. But he’s selfish. It only makes him want more.

Now where they lay, Steve is touching Bucky more, hands roaming over his sides and stomach, lips trailing kisses across his jaw. Bucky purrs at the attention, feeling arousal pool in his belly at the clear intent Steve has. “Yeah?” he murmurs, prick twitching. He could get into this.

Steve smiles. “Yeah. C’mere.”

Bucky’s turning into him, but then the crackle of the baby monitor sounds and he winces. Becca is whining on the other end, clearly awake. “Hold that thought,” he says, pecking a kiss to Steve’s lips. “Duty calls.”

Steve makes a weak gesture of grabbing for him as Bucky slips from the bed, but it’s easy to shrug him off. “Cut it out,” he chides. “Unless you want to change this arrangement and be the one to get your butt out of bed in the middle of the night.”

Steve just grunts and pulls the covers over his head. “No,” he says, voice muffled.

Bucky snorts on his way out the door. “Typical alpha.”

“I heard that.”

Bucky crosses the hall and goes into Becca’s room. She’s sitting up in her crib, and when she sees him she raises her arms to be picked up. Bucky goes and gets her. “Hey baby girl,” he whispers. “What’s the matter with you, huh?” He kisses the top of her head and she makes a “bah” sound. “That so?” Bucky says. He goes and sits in the rocking chair, humming quietly as he does. “Your daddy’s too lazy to do this,” he tells her, though there’s no malice to his voice. Steve’s away so often, working non-stop for days at a time, that Bucky hasn’t been able to begrudge him their arrangement with Becca. Steve’s dark circles hurt Bucky’s heart, and truthfully, taking care of Becca satisfies some part of Bucky that he hadn’t known he’d had. Domesticity, he thinks it is. Some kind of gooey, omega nurturing bullshit. 

He rocks Becca gently in his lap, making her coo. “Come on,” he tells her. “You know you’re sleepy. Don’t you want to sleep?” He observes her squinty eyes, proof that he’s right. He feels her butt through her onesie, but her diaper is dry. “You’re a big old faker,” he tells her fondly. “I’m gonna sing you one song and then you’re going to sleep.” Becca makes some small noise that means she’s comfortable, and Bucky starts singing the bits of Yiddish lullabies he can remember from when his Bubbe was still alive and would soothe him to sleep. He’s terrible at the words, most-likely massacring it, but Becca doesn’t seem to care. Her eyes get droopier and droopier as she drifts off. When she’s finally asleep, Bucky sighs in relief. “Good to know you’re not a critic,” he whispers, and bends to kiss her forehead. He puts her back in her crib and turns around.

Steve’s standing in the doorway, staring, a tender expression on his face. Bucky purses his lips. “How long have you been standing there?” he asks.

“Just long enough to know you’re a terrible singer,” Steve says, sounding like a total sap.

“Shut up,” Bucky says, going over and closing the nursery door behind them. Steve pins him there with his bulk and kisses him, long and tender. “M’not giving you a blow job,” Bucky complains when they part. “And you had one coming, you know.”

Steve smiles. “I did?” 

“Yeah.”

Steve chuckles. He kisses Bucky again and this time Bucky wraps his arm around him. “Come back to bed,” Steve says. “Let me make it up to you.”

Bucky takes his hand and lets him lead them back into the master bedroom.

.oOo.

Another day, Steve returns home from nearly a week away and Bucky greets him at the front door, wrapping him in his arm and kissing him. Steve kisses back, and when they part, he’s smiling. “Missed me?” he asks. 

Bucky huffs. “You have no idea,” he says. He takes Steve by the hand and starts pulling him towards the stairs. “Can pregnancy make you hornier?” Bucky asks without looking back. “Because I definitely feel hornier.” Behind, he can hear Steve laugh, but the smell that floods off of him isn’t amused—it’s aroused. Bucky tugs him harder. 

He directs them past the master bedroom and up to the third floor, to Bucky’ little room. It’s warmer up there, all the house’s heat rising and collecting in what was probably once an attic before Bucky moved in. He’s pushed his little twin bed up into one corner, sandwiching it right against the wall and piling _tons_ of blankets and pillows onto it. It’s where he naps and drags Becca to nap some of the time (naps are _good_ these days). And now it’s where he wants to fuck Steve. “Lay down,” he tells him, already reaching to pull off his own shirt. 

Steve smirks but takes off his clothes and does as instructed. He sits on the bed and watches Bucky undress with a heated look in his eyes. Bucky blushes, for once a bit reserved with his nudity. He’s never been this far along, has never been this… well, this _pregnant_ -looking. He doesn’t quite know how to feel about it. Steve obviously does, though. He holds out his arms for Bucky to step into them, and he does, wrapping his arm behind Steve’s head as Steve rubs his face against Bucky’s growing belly. “What’s it this week?” Steve asks, and he knows that Bucky knows what he means by that. 

“An avocado,” Bucky says quietly, unable to keep the fondness from his voice. Steve always wants the update. It means more to Bucky than he could say. 

“Mm, guacamole,” Steve says. Bucky just pinches him.

“Ew, you want to mash our baby? Some father you are.”

Steve just growls and pulls Bucky down onto the bed, tackling him into the mounds of soft comforters. Bucky goes without complaint and soon Steve is looming over him. “Nice nest you’ve made,” he murmurs, dipping to nuzzle at Bucky’s neck. “My good omega, so smart.”

Bucky would roll his eyes and make some snotty comment about how it hardly takes any brains to nest, but what Steve is doing to his neck feels too good. His body and his smell his words are all too good to be sarcastic right now. So instead he just offers up a sigh and wiggles down further into the bedcovers. “It’s comfy,” he tells him. “Wanted to add your smell to it.”

Steve grins. “I can think of a few ways to do that,” he says.

“Mm, and what are those?”

Steve’s eyes darken and he sits back up from Bucky a little bit, eyes trailing over him. “God,” he says quietly. “You’re so beautiful like this.” He places his hand on Bucky’s stomach, which has finally rounded out into a noticeable baby bump. “Can’t wait to see you fill out.”

Bucky blushes and squirms. “Yeah, I’ll bet,” he complains. Stupid alphas and their damned possessive instincts. Bucky loves it. He reaches up for Steve. “C’mere.” 

Steve goes willingly, and once he’s got their bodies pressed together he rubs his hips forward lightly. He’s hard already, but that’s okay because Bucky is too. He sighs in satisfaction at the feeling of their erections rubbing together. “Oh, mm. Gonna make me feel good?” he asks.

“Yeah baby.” Steve holds Bucky’s jaw in his hands and kisses him, mouth covering his and taking it gently. There is no tongue; just the gentle pressure and give and take of their lips. It’s heaven, and Bucky’s prick drools between them. Steve releases him from the kiss and touches his lips to each of Bucky’s cheeks, then he’s kissing down his neck, across his collarbones, and down his sternum. He kisses and licks at each of Bucky’s nipples, making him sigh and run fingers through his hair in encouragement. Steve lifts a hand and palms Bucky’s pec that he isn’t lavishing with attention. “You think they’ll get big, when your milk comes in?” 

Bucky rolls his eyes where Steve can’t see. “Please don’t fetishize that,” he grumbles. “Not looking forward to it.”

Steve just chuckles and sucks his nipple harder. He moves further down Bucky’s body, sticking his tongue in Bucky’s bellybutton just because he knows that he hates it. Then he finally, _finally_ , reaches Bucky’s cock and he rubs his cheek against it like a cat. Bucky watches him through hooded eyes. “Steve,” he says. “Please.”

Steve’s blue, blue eyes blink up at him. “What, baby?”

“Suck me,” Bucky says, unabashed. His hips thrust up a little without his permission. “Please.”

Steve smiles against his skin, kisses the spot just at the edge of Bucky’s hipbone. “You ask so sweetly,” he murmurs. Then he sinks down further, licks each of Bucky’s balls just to tease him, and licks slowly and deliberately all the way up his cock, base to tip. Bucky whimpers. Steve flicks his eyes up once more, and then he’s slipping his mouth over the head of Bucky’s cock, holding there in the warm wetness of his mouth with the smallest, gentlest little sucks. Bucky’s fingers tighten in his hair.

“Oh, Steve,” he slurs. “Yeah.”

Steve hums, the reverberations going straight through Bucky’s cock and further down. He thumbs at the crest of Bucky’s groin and sinks down lower, taking in each inch of Bucky’s cock with a slow, tight slide. Bucky exhales shakily and closes his eyes, focusing on the delicious sensation. His cock is small, so it’s easy for Steve to take him all the way down without choking. When Steve reaches the base of him and sucks with purpose, Bucky feels his toes curl hard. “Stevie,” he praises breathily. “Oh, make me come.”

Steve listens. He pulls up, starts a rhythm that’s steady and skilled, using his mouth and no hands to get Bucky off. In no time at all, Bucky’s humping up against his face, breathy sounds growing louder until he tenses and comes into Steve’s mouth with a cry. Steve waits, pulls off, and swallows Bucky’s come. Bucky just blinks lazy eyes up at him. “So pretty when you do that,” he says, more exhausted than he’d like to admit. This damned avocado has been sapping his energy more and more lately. Now that he’s come, all Bucky wants to do is be selfish and fall asleep. Preferably with his alpha curled up right behind him.

Steve, it seems, has other plans. When he observes Bucky’s lazy smile and drooping eyes, he chuckles darkly. “Oh no,” he says. “I’ve got plans for you.”

“Mm?” Bucky asks.

Steve just moves his hands to Bucky’s backside, sinking down further in the sheets and using his grip to push Bucky’s legs up. His face is somewhere down around Bucky’s asshole. “Oh, Jesus,” Bucky groans. “Steve, no. I can’t.”

Steve blows on him, making him shiver. “Sure you can baby. I’m going to make you come, and come and come. Gonna make you come till you cry, till you’re all wrung out and sleep for a week.”

Bucky just moans, feeling stupid and lust-drunk. “Shit,” he whimpers, when Steve’s tongue flicks out against his entrance. He hears Steve mumble something into his skin down there, something about the taste of his slick, and Bucky just rubs the heel of his hand into his eyes. “Fuck,” he sighs. Steve is already lapping against his hole and rubbing knuckles against his perineum, and Bucky knows that he’s done for. Nothing in the world could make him push Steve away now. He digs his head back into the pillow and resigns himself to the fact that he’s about to be ravished. 

.oOo.

Later, _much_ later, after Bucky’s come half a dozen times and slept most of the afternoon away, Steve gets them into the tub in Bucky’s little en-suite. It’s a tight fit, the old clawfoot being much smaller than Steve’s own bathtub. But somehow they manage. Bucky rests against Steve’s chest and soaks in the warmth of the water and the smell of Steve. _The smell of his mate_ , his mind supplies, even though he knows that’s not technically true. But with circumstances being what they are, and Bucky’s hormones adding no small amount of influence, it’s been harder and harder not to think of Steve that way. 

Bucky sighs and tips his head back to rest over Steve’s shoulder. Steve’s hands are, of course, on his stomach, rubbing idly over the swell of it. “Want you again,” he murmurs, voice incredibly quiet but not at all shy.

Bucky smiles, unseen. “Take me,” he says. “Just don’t knot me.” He doesn’t want to imagine how hard it would be for them to get out of the tub in _that_ scenario. Steve grumbles something like ‘duh’ into his neck, and then his big hands are lifting Bucky, maneuvering him in the water until Steve’s hard cock can find his entrance. He sinks in with hardly any effort, his come and Bucky’s slick still inside of him. Bucky exhales long and low at the feeling and lets his eyes slip shut. “Take me slow,” he says.

Steve kisses his neck, the shell of his ear. “Course,” he whispers. His hands hold Bucky under the water and move him gently, thrusting up into him in the barest of movements. It’s gentle, and it’s slow, and it’s probably the sweetest, most intimate thing they’ve ever shared. It takes a long time for them to come, but eventually they do.

.oOo.

“Do you want to be together when this is all over?” Steve asks him later, when the house is sleeping and they’re barely awake enough to keep their eyes open anymore. They’re under the heavy covers of Steve’s bed and facing one another. Bucky blinks at Steve and exhales, thinking.

“Together?” he asks.

“Mmhm. Like, live together. Bond, get married.”

Bucky closes his eyes, knows that if he had any more energy in his body he’d try to sit up and make this into a serious conversation with Steve. Because it _should_ be. But he’s just too damned tired and wrung out. Steve had fulfilled his promise to do that. So instead Bucky snuggles up into Steve’s warmth and tells him, “Yes. I want to stay with you.” He’s not shocked that he means it.


	24. Getting Out

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter tags/warnings: rape, attempted rape, violence, mention of execution

Surprisingly, Bucky is not sent away once he loses the baby. 

He’s ignored, largely. By choice, he sequesters himself away in the basement. Fiona comes down and brings him meals and updates: Carol has had a nervous breakdown and won’t leave her room, Carol is going to spend time away with her sister, Warren was crying in his office yesterday. Stuff like that. Bucky doesn’t care much about any of it, so long as he isn’t being hurt. And he’s not. Nobody punishes him for losing the baby. They just… leave him alone. It’s the best four weeks of Bucky’s life.

Then he hits heat again, and they have to do the ceremony again. Three nights in a row. It’s awful. The worst yet. Mrs. Putnam cries the whole time and doesn’t dig her fingernails into Bucky’s wrist like she usually does. He finds himself wishing that she would, as the stinging pain there is something he’s gotten used to using to distract himself from what’s happening between his legs. Nothing changes on Warren’s end. He humps into Bucky for a short time before coming, pulls out before knotting, and leaves the second he’s done spilling inside of Bucky. If he’s mad at Bucky for killing his baby, he doesn’t show it.

.oOo.

It’s the height of summer. Bucky’s body has fully-healed from the miscarriage, and his heat ended yesterday, thank god. He’ll have a whole month of freedom now. Earlier that morning, the speakers on the street had turned on and announced that all vessels were required to go somewhere. Bucky had been in the basement at the time so he hadn’t heard it. Fiona had gotten him and sent him on his way. 

He walks with a group of other vessels from his neighborhood, not knowing what’s going on. “Where are we going? Why are we here?” Bucky asks his shopping partner when he sees that they’re being guided to the local high school—to the football field. There are caretakers and guardians assembled there, and a stage. “What’s going on?”

Oflinda looks at him. “This your first?” she asks.

“My first _what_?”

“Particicution.”

Bucky frowns. He’s never heard that word before. He doesn’t like the sound of it. “Um,” he glances around at all of the guardians who line the field, sweaty and irritated. “Yeah.”

They’re directed to sit in lines on the grass. It’s hot and sticky out, so hot that Bucky almost feels bad for the guardians that are there. Vessels are required to wear long skirts and pants, but it’s lightweight red cotton, and their summer clothes have short sleeves and lower necklines. At least they don’t have to be decked out in paramilitary gear and standing outside in the beating sun all day, Bucky thinks. He looks down the line of guardians closest to him. They’re mostly all young men and women—people Bucky’s age or maybe a few years older. They shift and stir at their posts, fingers clutching their rifles in what looks like discomfort. Bucky can pick out a few scents that smell close to rut—a woman right next to him, a restless guy further up the line. It makes him nervous. 

Alphas don’t rut that often. Some don’t rut at all, but it’s much more common in the summer months. “Heat Frenzy” is sort of a double entendre in that way. Bucky’s unsure what the rules for Alphas are with suppressants these days, but he wonders if they’re forbidden from taking them as well. From the way that the guardians seem twitchy and on-edge, Bucky’s betting that they are forbidden. He smirks meanly where he sits. _Well turnabout’s fair play,_ he thinks.

Up ahead, a caretaker steps up to a microphone and starts speaking at them, and Bucky turns his attention to what the man has to say.

.oOo.

Once you participate in your first public execution, everything changes. Some piece of you goes away. And it’s not a piece you ever really noticed was there, until it’s gone.

Bucky can remember the first time he’d shot and killed someone for the resistance, how he’d realized, suddenly and very-disturbingly, that all people were were just bags of skin and blood and bones, no more sturdy or special than a cow or a plant or a shoe. People could be ripped up and destroyed incredibly easily. 

This is like that first kill, Bucky thinks. He’s just lost a piece of himself. A bigger piece this time, since they’d done it with their bare hands. Battlefields and bullets don’t seem nearly so gruesome to him now, not now that he’s seen a woman’s scalp torn off in pieces, her eyes gouged in with thumbs. He walks home from the particicution with a numb sort of feeling in his fingers and toes. He gets in the house and the air conditioning is a blessed relief. Fiona intercepts him at the door. “You okay?” she asks, sounding unsure. Bucky’s a hot, sweaty mess. His hair is mussed and he’s pretty sure there’s blood on his face. 

“Yeah,” he tells her, voice quiet and plain. “Gonna… take a shower.”

Fiona bites her lip but doesn’t stop him as he walks like a zombie toward the basement stairs.

He takes a cold shower. It feels wonderful for a few seconds, and then horrible, but he doesn’t turn the temperature up even when he’s washed all the sweat off and is freezing and shivering. He just turns the water off and grabs a towel. He wraps it around himself and curls up on top of his bed, miserable.

He sleeps, not sure how long it is before he’s being woken up by hands on his shoulders. Bucky grunts, opening his eyes and feeling disoriented. “What?” Someone’s shaking him. “Whassit?”

“Get up!” Carol says. She’s frantic, looks scared. “Get _up_ , Ofwarren.”

Bucky shifts, trying to sit up without letting his towel slip from his body. “What’s wrong?” he asks her, confused. She’s never come down into the basement before. 

“Something’s wrong with Warren,” she tells him. “He’s upstairs. Come on, hurry!” She grabs him by his one arm and hauls him off the bed. Bucky loses his grip on the towel and it falls and he’s left naked. He growls, yanking his hand back in frustration. 

“Hang on a damned minute,” he says, turning away from her and stalking towards his dresser. “Jesus.” He shucks a pair of pants on but that’s as far as he gets before Carol’s pushing him toward the stairs. 

“Come _on_ ,” she urges. “I don’t know what to do!”

He follows her up the stairs and then up to the second level of the house. From Carol’s behavior, Bucky’s kind of expecting to find Warren crumpled on the floor from a heart attack or something. But when they’re just outside of the master bedroom, he’s hit by the scent of rut. He throws himself back against the bannister. “What the fuck?” he looks at Carol. “Why would you bring me up here?”

Carol looks helplessly at him. “He’s in there. He said to get you,” she says. “He can barely talk but he managed to get that much out.” She flaps her hands. “Can’t you… I don’t know, make it better?”

Bucky growls, pissed off and scared. No way in hell is he going in that room. He can smell Warren from all the way out in the hallway. “He’s in rut,” he snaps at Carol. “There’s nothing I can do.”

“Well you did this to him!” she says back angrily, jabbing her finger at him. “This had never happened before you.” She points to the bedroom doors. “He’s in there freaking out, acting half-delusional. Now you go in and fix it! Fix him!”

Bucky snarls. “I _can’t_.”

She steps forward, shoves him, and Bucky’s honestly surprised at how it makes him stumble into the door. Carol’s much smaller than him, he wouldn’t have expected the woman to pack such a punch. Not without a taser stick to work with, at least. “Go in there!” she commands. She gets her hand on the doorknob but Bucky covers it with his own. He glowers at her.

“No. I’m _done_.”

Her eyes narrow. “ _Excuse_ me?”

“You’re going to have to rape someone else from now on, and go on pretending that God doesn’t care.”

Carol just stares at him for one long, astounded second, and then her hand is turning beneath Bucky’s and she’s pushing open the door. Bucky stumbles through and into the room. She slams it shut after him.

He’s instantly bowled-over by the wave of pheromones that hits him. He stumbles all over again and moves to catch himself on the wall. He leans against it, feeling completely disoriented, almost like he’s been whacked upside the head. Everything sounds like it’s underwater, his senses dulled to anything but the awful, overpowering smell of the alpha with whom he’s just shared a heat, the alpha who’d bred him, whose pup he’d lost. Bucky blinks, trying to focus his eyes. “What—” he starts, licking his lips. He forces himself to breathe through his mouth and he looks up to figure out where Warren is. “Commander?” he says cautiously, looking around. “Mr. Putnam?” 

A noise, something between a whimper and a growl, sounds from the corner of the room. Bucky turns around and sees Warren standing between the wall and the tall dresser. His eyes are heavy-lidded and focused to pinpricks on Bucky. Bucky swallows. “Shit.” Before he can say or do anything else, Warren is coming at him. He gets his hands on Bucky and pulls him to the floor. They land in an ungraceful heap, Bucky on his stomach and Warren at his back. Bucky shouts, “Get off!” but Warren doesn’t stop, doesn’t even act like he’s heard him. He just keeps pawing at him, grabbing and pulling himself on top of him. Warren’s fingers are gripping his clothes and some seam in the cotton of Bucky’s pants tears with a sickening rip. Against his ass, he can feel Warren’s erection. Bucky feels panic well up in him as he realizes that he’s going to be raped outside of heat. He’s going to be raped by a feral alpha. He yells, not at Warren this time but rather for anyone who can help. He yells and he yells, scrabbling under Warren and trying to hit him to get him off, to keep him away. 

Warren gets his face up at Bucky’s neck and Bucky feels his breath there, hot and awful. He writhes, trying with everything in him to get the man away from his neck, from his bonding gland. He feels Warren’s teeth scrape him in a near miss and he cries out, pleading, “Stop, please Warren. Don’t!” He doesn’t want to be bitten, doesn’t want a bond forced on him. He’s also sure that it’s going to happen. Warren’s got Bucky’s arm pinned and he’s growling like a madman and Bucky can feel time grind to a halt as he realizes that this is going to happen and there’s nothing he can do about it. He screams in frustration.

The bedroom doors burst open. Jasper’s there, and he sticks his taser into Warren’s neck.

.oOo.

The next thing Bucky knows, he’s waking up to a pounding headache in the back of a van. He opens his eyes, fairly-certain that this time he _has_ been hit upside the head. He’s laying on the floor. He blinks up at the ceiling of the van, then over to the two guardians who are sitting in the back with him. Bucky recognizes one of them. “Oh,” he says, then he remembers. His hand flies to his neck to feel if there’s a bite mark there. There isn’t—just smooth, unblemished skin. Bucky swallows, relief pouring through him like never before. Above, Brock chuckles at him. “Hey kiddo,” he tells him. “Lucky break there. How ya been?”

Bucky’s returned to the red center, pending reassignment. He starts planning and implementing his escape. Bucky knows he’ll have to wait until his next heat cycle has passed, to give himself as much time as possible to remain undetected once he’s out on the streets. He’ll have to get a weapon and hide it. A knife is the most likely option. He’ll have to steal clothes and an ID badge. He’ll have to figure out a way to remove his red tag, or else cut off the top of his ear. And depending on how well things go according to plan, he may or may not have to kill a caretaker and one or more guardians. He doesn’t particularly want to, but he steels himself for the possibility. Because he’s not going to let them send him to another household for the whole, horrible process to be repeated again. He’s getting out, no matter what.

.oOo. 

April twenty first. That’s tomorrow. That’s when it’s supposed to happen. Steve has promised to get Bucky driven somewhere safe that evening, before the chaos sets in, and before Bucky can complain about that plan Steve’s off with Natasha and Clint to only god knows where, leaving Bucky alone with Becca and Sharon and Sam. Bucky is royally pissed off at Steve. He _hates_ being so uninformed. He wants a job to do. He wants his M4 back. He wants his _arm_ back. 

He fixes himself and Becca breakfast and sits all grumpy in the living room all morning, eating cereal and keeping the tv turned onto the State news channel. Steve is gone, which of course makes Bucky nervous to no end. He’s told Bucky to stay home no matter what. Bucky hates it. It’s a shit situation and nobody’s telling him anything. _“Don’t worry about it. I’m going to make sure you’re safe and far away by the time things happen”_ isn’t a satisfactory explanation for Bucky. It just isn’t. But he stays with Becca and keeps her nearby. Sharon and Sam disappear around lunchtime, and shortly after that, Bucky sees the first explosion on TV. He blanches. No. No no no. _This isn’t supposed to happen until tomorrow!_ he thinks. Steve said so. He said… 

A motorcade is hit, then a government building, then congress. The news service stops broadcasting.

He looks down at Becca and says, “We need a plan.” She just blinks at him from where she’s playing with the tassels of the couch’s afghan. Bucky glances down at his stomach, feeling helpless. He’s almost six months pregnant by now. Steve’s told him to stay put, but when an explosion comes from somewhere _way_ too close and he glances out the window and can see smoke in the near distance, he knows they have to get out. 

Just then, Rollins comes into the family room, looking harried. Bucky gulps. He hadn’t realized Rollins was home. “Get up,” Rollins tells him and nods at Becca. “Get her. We’re leaving.”

“Where?” Bucky asks. 

“Taking you somewhere safe,” Rollins says. He turns his back to Bucky and starts talking to someone on his radio. Bucky panics. He can’t go anywhere with Rollins. He knows that Rollins’ “safe” and Steve’s “safe” are not the same place. It’ll just be a secure location from which he probably won’t be able to escape. Realizing that he has to act now, Bucky glances back at Becca. She blinks at him and gives him a smile and sucks on the tassel. Bucky looks around the room. There’s a set of silver candlesticks on the mantel to the fireplace. He hurries, grabs one, turns around and whacks Rollins on the back of the head as hard as he can. The man goes down without a sound, his radio skittering across the floor. Bucky stares, watching as blood creeps from Rollins’ head at a rate which heavily suggests he may be dead. Bucky looks back over to Becca, who just smiles at him again. “Sorry,” he tells her. She giggles.

He bends down and rolls Rollins’ body over. He’s about to take his pistol but on second thought just undoes his whole utility belt and takes it. He looks down at himself, considering his red clothes. He has to change, he realizes. The sirens and sounds of cars speeding by haven’t lessened outside. If they run now, they’re bound to run into other guardians, and Bucky’s red clothes will get them apprehended faster than anything else. Bucky carries Becca upstairs with him and goes into Steve’s room. He sets her on the floor and goes and roots through Steve’s drawers until he finds a tee shirt that’s stretchy enough to fit him. He dresses in Steve’s sweatpants and other clothes, gets Becca, and heads back downstairs.

“Kay Becs,” he says when they’re at the kitchen door and he’s managed to secure Rollins’ belt at his hips, below his fucking stomach. “We gotta go. Don’t be loud,” he tells her. Rollins’ car is parked in the driveway and Bucky has the keys. That’s the extent of Bucky’s plan and it fucking sucks, but the chaos isn’t dying down and Bucky isn’t going to sit around and wait to be rounded up and taken somewhere he doesn’t want to be. He opens the door and steps out. Nothing happens.

Swallowing, he hurries for the car, unlocking it and opening the back door to set Becca in the backseat. “Fuck,” he says lowly when he realizes that they don’t have her car seat; it’s in Steve’s car. He looks at Becca guiltily. “Goddamn it.” He just pushes her towards the middle of the seat and shuts the door. There’s nothing he can do about that. He’ll just have to make sure he doesn’t crash into anything. “Fucking fuck!” He curses. If his mother could see him and how he’s about to transport this baby, she’d smack him upside the head. He goes around the car and gets in the driver’s seat. 

It’s strange, putting the keys in and feeling the engine turn over. Bucky realizes that he hasn’t driven a car in over four years. He feels powerful and nervous, like he’ll be tazed any second for daring to get behind the wheel at all. He forces himself to shake the feeling off and gets the car’s GPS system going. He tries to think of the best route to take. They have to get as far away from the city as possible, he thinks. As far away from the fighting as possible. He needs to keep Becca safe. 

He decides on the nearest major highway. They’ll take it and… Bucky gulps. He doesn’t know what the fuck they’ll do after that. It isn’t like he has any idea how to get around this area. He’s from New York, not DC. He’s only ever been shuttled around in the backs of cars and vans here. “Goddamn it, Steve,” he hisses, staring at the GPS screen and feeling helpless. This is a terrible plan, but he’s got nothing else to work with.

Bucky glances back to Becca, who’s pulled herself up to sitting in the backseat. He’s reconsidering moving her up to the front where he can keep a better eye on her, but then a huge explosion goes off and Bucky’s eyes jerk back out to the windshield in shock. The house three doors down across the street has erupted into flames. Bucky knows a very senior commander lives there. “Fuck,” he breathes. What if someone tries to blow up Steve’s house? He shifts the car into drive. They can’t stay here. 

.oOo.

They make it past a lot of checkpoints. A lot. Bucky feels ready to vomit at each one, when guardians poke their heads into the car and Bucky repeats his story about how they’re going to his parents’ place to make sure they don’t get caught up in the fighting. He tells them that his wife and alpha is stuck in the city and he’s just trying to get their daughter somewhere safe. Luckily, the guardians seem to be very distracted by what’s going on and they let Bucky though without questioning his story. 

That is until one of them just doesn’t. It’s at a checkpoint in the suburbs and, frustratingly enough, is probably the last one he'd have to pass through before the on ramp to the highway. But it’s far enough away from the city that the guardians posted there are on their game and not distracted, and the man who comes up to his window looks into the car suspiciously. “You said she’s your daughter?” the man says, looking at Bucky critically. 

Bucky is reminded of the day, years ago, when the border patrol stopped his mom’s car and said they couldn’t pass. He tries to stay friendly as he tells the guardian, “Yes sir. My daughter.”

The guardian huffs and looks at Bucky’s stomach, which Steve’s stupid tee shirt doesn’t hide. “How’s that possible?” he asks, clearly referring to Bucky’s pregnant state.

Bucky huffs. “Do you need an education on length of human gestation or am I free to go?” It’s the wrong thing to say. Before Bucky can so much as put the car back into drive, the guardian is grabbing the door handle and yanking the door open. “Hey!” Bucky says, leaning back as suddenly the alpha is pulling him from the car. “You can’t do that!” Bucky tries to shake the man off, figures if he can get free for even a second he’ll just drive straight through the damned barrier, but he doesn’t make it. The man gets him out of the car and Bucky can hear Becca crying from the backseat and the guardian is pushing Bucky into the arms of another guardian. The utility belt is yanked off Bucky, pistol and taser and anything else of use going with it. “Goddamn it,” Bucky grunts, twisting in the guardian’s hold.

“Hold him while I get the kid out of the back,” the other says.

Bucky jerks and tosses his head. “You can’t do this. Let me go!” He hears the guardian who’s holding him grunt in annoyance, and then the man says to the other one,

“Hey, lookie here!” He’s got his hand on Bucky’s head, gripping him none-too-gently by the hair.

“What the fuck man! Stop it!”

“He’s red-tagged.”

Bucky freezes. _Shit_. The other guardian gives up on trying to get the back door of the car open and comes over. He looks at Bucky, who by now is gritting his teeth angrily. “An escaped vessel, then,” he says. He nods at the other man. “Get him in a vehicle.”

The guardian starts moving Bucky, and Bucky jerks, trying to fight him off. “What? No!" Behind, he sees the guy getting the car door open and lifting Becca out. Bucky's heart lurches. "No! You can’t take her! That’s my daughter!” he yells. He twists and fights, but it’s no use. Soon another three guardians have joined them and Bucky is being shoved into the back of a black van. The doors slam shut, and then he can’t see anything at all. Bucky screams.


	25. Delivery

Bucky walks into the room they’ve given him, looking around at the plain furniture and undecorated walls. "Home sweet home," he mutters. It looks like a bunker, if a particularly spacious one. There are no windows. Bucky thinks they might be underground. “What is this place?” he asks Brock, because of fucking course Brock would wind up with him in the end. The two of them just can’t seem to avoid each other. Brock’s been a part of their convoy since the second day.

Brock huffs and throws himself onto the room’s couch, laying his rifle aside. Bucky eyes it covetously, but Brock sees this and just laughs, hauling it back against his side. “I don’t think so, kid.”

“Please stop calling me that.”

Brock shrugs. “Okay. Ofkate.”

Bucky purses his lips. He sits himself down on the bed. “That her name?” he asks. He hasn’t had the chance to meet his new commander, but she’s been pointed out in a crowd before.

“Yup.”

“Hm.” Without thinking about it, Bucky’s hand migrates to his stomach. He’s another week pregnant now. He tries to think what the fruit of the week is, but he can’t remember what the hell twenty-five weeks is supposed to be, so he gives up. Thinking of the fruit of the week just makes him think of Steve anyhow, and Bucky’s really not in the mood to cry in front of Brock again. Sighing, he lays down and stares at the room’s ceiling. “Where are we?” he asks again. He knows they’ve been on the move for four days straight. They could be anywhere by now.

“Upstate. Near Utica,” Brock says.

“New York? Really?” Bucky doesn’t know how to feel about that. On the one hand, he’s closer to New York City, to home, but on the other hand, there’s nobody left in New York who matters. His family’s in Toronto and Steve’s in DC. Bucky’s got no idea where Becca is. He hopes she’s safe but nobody’s been able to tell him anything. The guardians from the roadblock are long gone. “What’s this place?” Bucky asks, trying to get his thoughts off it.

“Eh, some compound.”

“Sons of Jacob headquarters?” Bucky asks. He’s seen the emblem on almost every surface of the building. 

“Yeah, something like that,” Brock says. “We’re holed up here till somebody says otherwise.”

Bucky swallows, thinking about that. He knows that fighting is still going on. Up until yesterday, their convoy had still been firing guns occasionally. They’d made sure to keep Bucky in the back of vans and trucks the whole time, but Bucky hears the radio chatter and he’s not stupid; he knows when he’s being chased. It’s reassuring at least. If the commanders and guardians that stand between him and the outside world are always on edge and seem to be fighting against something, it means that somebody’s fighting _back_. If they’re constantly on the move, or “holed up,” as Brock has just put it, then they could be losing. That’s good, Bucky thinks. The sooner they lose, the sooner Bucky can get back to Steve. 

Or if not to Steve, then at least to freedom. The thought of making it to Toronto to be with his family is almost as good, but it hurts to imagine a future without Steve, without the father of the pup that’s growing inside him. Bucky bites his lip and forces his hand away from his stomach. _Don’t think about that_ , he tells himself. He’s cried so frequently these past four days, he doesn’t think he can stand to give himself another headache from it. So he grits his teeth and tries to think about other things instead. 

For the next hour or so, he watches Brock on the couch and imagines the guardian being the one to fall asleep first, and how fun it’d be to steal his rifle and shoot him and escape.

.oOo.

Kate knocks on the doorway, making Bucky glance up from where he’s been playing chess with Brock. The guardian is surprisingly good at it, and if nothing else, it helps to keep Bucky’s mind off things. Brock, it seems, has nothing better to do with his time. “Rumlow,” Kate says disapprovingly. “Don’t you have a post to be at?” 

Brock sets his piece aside and stands, saying only “M’am,” before tipping his head and leaving. This tells Bucky that in fact, no, Brock doesn’t have a post to go to. Bucky smirks and twiddles his bishop. Seems there’s not much work for guardians these days. They’re just holed up after all. Trapped like rats. Bucky relishes it. 

“Commander,” he says to Kate when it’s just the two of them and she’s standing there staring at him. “How’re you?”

She twists her lips at him, holding out the plastic bag she’s brought. “Here,” she says. “I’m fine,” she adds. “Busy.”

“You’d be the only one,” Bucky says, peeking into the bag to see the ear plugs he’s requested. “Thanks,” he mutters. It’s been harder and harder for him to sleep comfortably, and the constant noise from the tin can walls of the base doesn’t help things. Bucky shoves the bag under his bed. At least now he won’t have to listen to it all night. 

“You’re welcome,” Kate says. She shuffles awkwardly for a moment, then nods at the couch. “You mind if I sit?”

Bucky raises an eyebrow. “Sure.” Kate’s never been one to stick around him for long. She seems to be very put off by the fact that he’s heavily pregnant with another alpha’s baby. Brock says that he has a scent to him—something alpha. Bucky’s not sure if it’s Steve’s scent, but it’s kept his new commander at a distance and he’s not complaining.

“You’re getting close to your due date,” she says, sitting stiffly atop the couch.

Bucky nods. “Yeah. Guess so.” He’d seen a doctor last week. If he doesn’t pop by Tuesday, they’re going to induce. He doesn’t say that to Kate though. “What about it?” he asks.

“I wanted to see what you need brought in,” Kate says, producing a small notepad from her pocket. She holds a pen poised over it. “Going to have them set up the next room over for it.”

Bucky winces at her use of the pronoun, ‘it’. “It’s a girl,” he tells her pointedly. “I’m naming her Sarah.” _After her grandmother_ , he thinks but doesn’t tell her. She doesn’t deserve to know that.

Kate just nods, not meeting his eyes. Bucky scowls. “You’re not going to take her away, then?” he asks. He tries not to let the anxiety come through in his voice, but isn’t sure if he’s entirely successful. It’s always been commonplace for vessels, standard even, to have their babies taken away and given to families, the vessels reassigned. Bucky’s already been assigned to his next commander, but he hasn’t had the courage to ask anybody what this means will happen to Steve’s baby. Kate’s not shown a favorable reaction to the pup so far. “Commander?” he asks her. “Kate?”

She looks up at him. “The baby can stay until it’s weaned,” she tells him. “Six months is standard. Now: what do you need?”

Bucky feels something inside himself harden. Kate doesn’t know it, but she’s just sealed her fate.

.oOo. 

Bucky wakes up and blinks in the dark, shifting. He inhales sharply when he feels wetness all around him, thinking he’s wet the bed. “What the fuck?” he mutters, before he shifts and pain pinches in him, and he realizes that that is _not_ what this is. “Oh, fuck,” he says. His eyes fly to the door to his room. They lock him in at night.

He endures maybe an hour of labor before anybody comes to check on him. Brock’s opening the door to his room and when he catches sight of him, crouched on the floor and pressing his forehead into the mattress, Bucky turns his head and glares at him. “Fucking brilliant, locking up the guy who’s _nine months pregnant_.”

Brock gets him to the medical wing. Bucky tries to pay attention to the building’s layout as they go through the hallways, but he’s breathing through another contraction so he doesn’t do as good of a job of it as he’d like. Once Bucky’s laying on his back and listening to a doctor tell him how effaced he is (whatever the hell that means), he starts to get scared for the first time. The doctor goes away, saying she’ll be back in the next hour and that Bucky should try and relax. “How the hell am I supposed to do that?!” he says, getting no answer. 

Time passes, more contractions come, and they _hurt_. Bucky finds the remote control to the room’s little tv, but it won’t tune to anything besides the stupid fucking state news channel and that pisses him off more than anything. He chucks the remote across the room because he can, and watches it break apart with little satisfaction. 

Another contraction starts up, making him grit his teeth. “Fuck,” he hisses, breathing through it the way he’s seen on tv shows his whole life. There’d been no chance for him to really learn, he realizes. He’s never been to a class or told what he needs to do for this. Bucky doesn’t know _anything_. He’s struck by the sudden urge to cry and wishes desperately that his mom was with him. “Oh god,” he says sadly as thinks about it. “I’m twenty-three fucking years old and I’m gonna have a baby!” He glances over to the side of the bed he’s in, seeing Brock in his BDUs and with his rifle and discomfited expression. Bucky sobs. “And all I’ve got is… is… you!”

Sarah Winnifred Barnes is born at three thirty in the afternoon. She weighs seven pounds, ten ounces, and there is absolutely nothing wrong with her.

Bucky holds her and feels so much relief at the fact that nothing is wrong with his little baby girl. That’d been his very final worry, that she’d come out looking like the baby Becca had called Elsa. The baby who’d died so soon. But Bucky’s baby is fine, the doctor has told him. Completely normal, even the bloodwork says so. The doctor had beamed at him as she relayed the baby’s weight, and length….and designation.

Bucky hadn’t been expecting that. He’d tensed when the woman had told him that his brand new daughter was omega. “Like her daddy,” the woman had chirped, like it was good news. Bucky had told her to go away. Now, as he lays there and blinks sleepily at his new baby, Bucky can’t help but to feel worried about it. Worried, but not unhappy. 

Used to be, designation wasn’t something you thought about with children. You found out when you were thirteen and pimply and your parents already hated your hormonal guts anyway. Bucky frowns and fiddles with a loose piece of yarn in Sarah’s delicate pink blanket that she’s wrapped in. Babies were either boys or girls, that’s all. Not beta, not omega or alpha. They weren’t supposed to have that label on them. Bucky hates the regime for changing it, hates the doctor for testing his daughter's blood. “Don’t worry,” he tells her as he holds her hand and counts her puny fingers—still five, “M’gonna take you to a place where that doesn’t matter.”

He falls asleep not long afterwards, completely exhausted.

.oOo.

A week goes by after Sarah’s birth, then two, then three. Every day feels like a ticking timebomb to Bucky, because he knows they’ll take his baby away from him eventually. Every time he holds her to his chest and feeds her, he thinks about the day when Commander Kate will walk into the room and snatch her up and not let him touch her or hold her anymore. He has frequent nightmares about it, will wake up crying and screaming at faceless soldiers who take his daughter away, sometimes cutting him open and taking her straight from his womb, as if he’d never given birth at all. 

When that happens, Bucky feels incredibly alone. He’s glad that they let him keep Sarah’s bassinet right there by his bed, so that he can pick her up out of it and hold her tightly in the sleepless hours that come after his nightmares. It helps, he thinks, that he has her. He loves her.

When his dreams aren’t about Sarah, they’re about Steve and Becca. Those ones aren’t always bad. Sometimes he dreams that he’s with Steve again, that he’s safe, and happy, and they’re raising a family somewhere. Those dreams are the best, but they’re hard to wake up from, too. Reality always sets back in.

During the day Bucky plans his escape. He doesn’t think in _ifs_ , he thinks in _whens_. That’s how he’d done it when he’d been at the red center and it’d worked out then. Well, mostly. He _had_ been caught and dragged back after a few months on the run… But experience is nothing if not a good teacher, he tells himself. He’ll make it work this time. Especially since he’s fairly certain by this point that he’ll have better odds once he’s out of the compound.

Everyone insists to Bucky that the regime is strong. They all act like Gilead is still up and running and doing just fine, but the creases in the guardians and the commanders’ faces grow worse, and sometimes Bucky swears he can hear distant gunfire at night. He pays attention to what few glances he can get of the news, and he tries to learn the layout of the base. One day, when he’s in the medical wing with Sarah for her one-month checkup, he sees that someone’s replaced the tv remote that he broke when he was in labor. He picks it up and turns the tv on. It still only tunes in to the one station, but Bucky’s able to see that the state news service is reporting on fighting, broadcasting fiery video footage of unnamed city streets. From the looks of it, there are all out _battles_ going on. Bucky tries to let this encourage him, and he keep on with his planning.

At Sarah’s two-month appointment, when Bucky fiddles with the tv remote, CNN is broadcasting again. Bucky’s heart leaps. He doesn’t even have to look at the headlines to know what this means. The regime has fallen. 

.oOo.

Bucky’s in good shape when the day comes. He’s stashed over two dozen high-protein granola bars, has fashioned a baby carrier out of old sheets, and has saved the last ball of wax to mold into Sarah’s little ears when shit hits the fan. He’s memorized the guard rotation for his wing of the building and he’s made reasonably good friends with Brock. The alpha has little motivation to join in with the fighting, it would seem. Where the other guards come and go on their shifts throughout the week, Brock’s there almost every single day. Bucky’s not sure if Brock requested baby and Bucky-duty, but he’s been given it, more often than not.

So when it happens, Brock’s in Bucky’s room with him. He’s actually holding Sarah, which works out perfectly. One minute Brock is holding the baby girl, bouncing her and making some stupid cooing noise into her face, and the next minute it sounds like artillery has hit the building at ground level. Bucky and Brock’s heads jerk up in alarm. 

“What the…” Brock murmurs. He glances at Bucky. Another loud noise comes, and this time dust is knocked loose from the ceiling. Somewhere else in the building, alarms start going off, and then there is shouting and people are running by in the corridors, all carrying their guns and jabbering into their radios. At his belt, Brock’s radio sounds off. Something about all forces being needed at the west gate of the compound. Bucky notes that. _East gate it is, then_. Brock rocks Sarah in his arms once more, looking at Bucky and telling him, “I should go too.”

“Here,” Bucky says, stepping close to him like he’ll take Sarah from his arms. “Give her to me.” Brock shifts her to hand her over to Bucky, and Bucky does take her, but he also finds a way to pull Brock’s side arm with him in the same motion. Brock notices immediately. 

“Hey!” Bucky points the gun at him and Brock holds his hands up in the air. “Who, whoa, okay!” He takes a step back. “I’m listening.”

Bucky nearly laughs, but the situation’s too precarious for that. He’s got his infant daughter cradled against his body, his _one_ arm keeping her against his chest as he points a pistol at Brock from underneath her butt. If his mother could see what he’s doing, she’d smack him upside the head. Bucky waggles the gun what little bit he can without dropping Sarah. “Sit on the couch,” he says. Brock does.

Bucky walks backwards, bends, and sort of drops Sarah onto the bed as gently as he can. Her head bounces more than he would like, but she seems okay. She doesn’t cry, and Bucky’s still got the gun trained on Brock. All is good. For his part, Brock looks stressed-out. “What are you gonna do, huh?” he asks. “Shoot me?”

Bucky frowns, realizes that if he has to think about it then the answer is probably no. Months before, he wouldn’t have left it as an option. He would’ve killed Brock immediately, scooped Sarah up and been out the door. Better dead than in the way. But now Bucky’s grown to like the guy and doesn’t know if he should waste the bullet on somebody who’s not actively attacking him. It could draw the attention of anybody not already out of the building. He considers his options. 

“Kid,” Brock says. “You won’t make it out of here.”

“I did before,” Bucky tells him.

“This isn’t a red center.” Brock eyes him sympathetically. “They’ll take her from you. Don’t do it.”

“Shut up!” Bucky shakes the gun at him and Brock flinches, but he does shut up. Bucky sighs, feeling overwhelmed. This isn’t like Rollins. He can’t just bludgeon the guy. Brock has full situational awareness; he’ll have enough chance to fight back and that won’t do. Bucky looks around the room. His eyes land on the little sink in the wall. It’s small; perfunctory. Bucky’s only ever used it to brush his teeth at night. But now he’s looking at how the pipe that snakes out from it forms a locking U against the wall. Bucky’s eyes shoot back to Brock, to his utility belt. Aha, he thinks. “Toss me your handcuff keys,” he tells him. 

Brock rolls his eyes, but he does listen. Bucky doesn’t even try to make the catch, just lets them fall at his feet. He kicks them to the farthest corner of the room, not near the sink at all. “Cuff your right wrist,” he tells Brock.

“Kid…” Brock hedges.

“Do it!” Bucky wags the gun at him. “I thought I told you my kill count.”

Brock’s lips tighten. “You did.”

“Then cuff your right wrist. Now.”

Brock doesn’t hesitate this time. He cuffs his right wrist. “What now?” he asks.

“Cuff it to the sink. To the pipe.”

Brock looks over, sees what Bucky means, and growls lowly. “Fuck.” He moves that way, facing away from Bucky and bending down by the pipe. He slows, muscles in his back tensing and legs shifting as he reconsiders. Bucky doesn’t let him get far into that train of thought though. 

“I’ve got a three-month-old laying back there,” he tells him. “So you know I’m not taking any chances. The only reason you’re not dead already is because you fucking let me win at chess. You’ll get a bullet in the head before you can even try that sweep you’re thinking of doing.”

That seems to settle it for Brock. He sighs in resignation and closes the other end of the cuffs to the sink. “Show me,” Bucky says, once Brock’s turned and is sitting against the wall. The man grunts and shakes his wrist to prove that the cuffs are secure. Bucky nods. “Good.” Then, a second later, says, “Thank you.”

Brock’s lips quirk the barest bit. “You’re welcome.” He reaches for his utility belt and grabs the plastic key card off it, tosses it to Bucky’s feet as well. 

It doesn’t take long to get Sarah bundled against his back with the impromptu baby carrier, her ears plugged with wax and her binky in her mouth to keep her calm. He turns for the door. “And kid?” Brock says. 

Bucky looks back over his shoulder at the man. “What?”

“I never _let_ you win.”

Bucky grins.

“Be careful out there,” he tells him ruefully.

“You too.” Bucky turns and leaves, shutting the door to lock behind them. “Okay baby girl,” he tells Sarah once he’s stuffed all the granola bars in his pockets and they’re headed down the hall towards what he hopes will wind up being an exit out of the compound. He’s got Brock’s key card and car keys on his wrist, the gun held at point in his hand. “Keep your shit together till we’re out of here, yeah?”

They make it through the corridors undetected. Alarms flash in every hallway but nobody’s around. All the base personnel seem to have run off to join whatever fight is going on outside. Shouts and gunfire can be heard in the distance, with the occasional boom of heavier artillery, and that works just fine for Bucky. He heads in the opposite direction of the commotion. Bucky finds an elevator that has labels for all of the floors. He pushes the button to take them to the garage level. Things are going freakishly well.

And when the key fob on Brock’s car keys fucking makes a Humvee not ten spaces into the first row of cars blink its lights and give a chipper sounding beep, Bucky knows that luck is in their favor. “Yes!” he hisses quietly, jogging over to the car and yanking the driver’s side door open. His smile widens when he sees the rifles and shotguns that are holstered vertically between the seats. “Perfect.”

He gets Sarah settled on the passenger seat and shuts and locks the door. The car starts without any fuss, and Bucky’s driving out of the garage, and then the compound. There’s fighting going on in the near distance, he can see. There’s even what appears to be a jet flying around, shooting things. Bucky steps on the gas and drives the opposite way, not intending to get caught up in that mess. There are guards posted at the East gate. They yell but don’t get the chance to shoot before Bucky is driving the Humvee straight through the chain link fence.

The sounds of the battle get more and more distant as Bucky drives down the road. The compound was in a rural area and Bucky takes several turns on gravel roads before he hits one that’s paved. It’s a two-lane highway with no traffic. Farmhouses litter the near distance, posing no visible threat. Bucky decides that he’ll drive until he can fine signage pointing them north, and then they’ll continue that way until they hit Canada. If they really were in Utica, he thinks, then they can’t possibly be more than a half day’s drive to the border. Bucky decides that Canada’s their goal. Even if Gilead’s fallen, he can’t be sure what, if any, areas might still be under occupation. Better to err on the side of caution. Besides, his family is in Canada.

God, _his family_. Bucky can’t keep from smiling like a maniac when he thinks about how he’s free. Finally. After four freaking years. He’s free and in a military-grade vehicle with no less than five firearms and his baby. He’s hours from the border, only hours away from seeing his mom and sisters. Tears prick the edges of his eyes and Bucky swipes them away hastily, getting his hand back on the wheel and laughing. They did it! He looks over at Sarah, wanting to yell and cheer with her, but she is, unfortunately, a three-month-old baby and she’s doing her favorite thing right now; sleeping.

“We did it!” Bucky whispers at her, keeping his celebration quiet. It’s still a pretty damn good celebration though. 

After an hour straight of driving north and keeping to the more rural roads, Bucky’s stomach growls. Loudly. He winces, realizes that he also has to take a piss, so he waits until he sees a deserted location for a pull off and parks the car. Sarah just keeps on sleeping where she lays, and Bucky hops out of the car and pees, too paranoid to even step off into the grass to do it. Once he’s done with that he hops back into the car and locks the door, sets Brock’s pistol on his lap, then digs one of the protein bars out to eat. 

It’s as he’s munching on it that lights descend from the sky. Bucky’s brain doesn’t even have time to fully-process that it’s a jet landing in front of them before he’s spitting out his bite of granola bar and turning the key in the ignition. “Fuck!” he yells, checking the mirrors and seeing that there are no other approaching vehicles, no soldiers running up the road or emerging from the nearest tree lines. Bucky squints back through the windshield, holding his hand up to block the bright lights that the jet’s shining their way. _“Come out of the vehicle,”_ a loud, speakered voice says, clearly emanating from whoever’s piloting the jet. Bucky suddenly recognizes its sleek lines as the same ones he’d seen flying around at the compound. Crap. He revs the engine, trying to decide which direction he’ll try for. They don’t have much chance of escaping a jet, but he has to try…

_“Exit the vehicle now. We have our cannons trained on you.”_

Bucky’s heart sinks. He can’t do this, he thinks, glancing helplessly over to Sarah. He can’t drive away just to get shot down, have the car explode around his sleeping baby. She doesn’t deserve that. Bucky’d be fine going out in a flaming ball of glory, but his daughter deserves more. He sighs and, heart breaking once more, turns the key and removes it from the ignition. “Sorry,” he tells her.

The jet barks more orders at them through the speaker, but Bucky doesn’t pay attention. He tucks the pistol into his waistband, then picks Sarah up and holds her against his chest. He makes sure to get a good, deep inhale of her smell before he opens the car door, in case she’s yanked away soon.

He hops down from the car, the distance between the Humvee’s top step and the ground pretty far. He stands there and stares at the blinding lights of the jet, its loud engines. He glares at it, angrier than he’s been in a long time. _Fuck you_ , he thinks. He’d be shooting bullets through that jet’s windshield right now if he didn’t have his baby to think about. The engines power down, and then the main lights of the jet power down as well. A door in the hull opens up and several black forms walk down the ramp

Bucky’s lips part in shock, the breath leaving him in one, great exhale. 

“ _…Steve?_ ”


	26. After

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter tags/warnings: love, happiness, sex, and love

“Holy shit,” Bucky breathes.

Steve is _right_ there in front of him. Clint and Natasha are there too, but Bucky can’t tear his eyes away from Steve. He’s standing there in the middle of the road, wearing black paramilitary gear and looking at Bucky like he’s seeing a ghost. He looks just as shocked to see Bucky as Bucky is to see him. “ _Steve_ ,” Bucky says again, relief flooding him like a drug. He feels like he could keel over from it. Steve huffs and rushes forward and grabs Bucky up in his arms, pulling him into his chest and holding him tightly for several long moments.

Bucky inhales, breathing Steve in. _God_ , his scent. He’d forgotten how wonderful it was. He’s missed it so much. “Bucky,” Steve is saying, “Bucky, Buck, god. I can’t believe it.” Steve squeezes him, then grabs his shoulders and holds him back to look at him. “It’s really you.”

“You…” Bucky flounders for what to say. This isn’t guardians, come to take him back. It’s Steve. Steve is _alive_ , and he’s _found_ him. Bucky licks his lips, trying to think of what to say. He’s just staring like an idiot. He needs to _say_ something. “You… you grew a beard.”

Steve’s face splits in a heartbreaking smile. He pulls Bucky back into his arms. The second that he’s there, Bucky feels every ounce of strength leave his body, the adrenaline seeping out of him in seconds and leaving nothing but too many emotions behind. “Yeah Buck,” Steve is saying, holding him tightly against his body and breathing against his hair. He smells the same, Bucky thinks. Steve smells the same and his voice makes the same, wonderful rumble in his chest when he speaks. 

Bucky closes his eyes and shudders as he allows Steve to continue to squeeze him and support his weight. “Missed you,” Bucky breathes. “Missed you so much.”

“Oh god, Bucky.” Steve’s voice sounds watery. “Me too. You don’t even—I thought you were dead.”

“M’not,” Bucky says. He feels tears creeping down his cheeks and isn’t sure when they started. “Fuck,” he sniffs, pressing his face into the scratch of Steve’s clothes. “Did we win? Please say yes. Please say it’s over.”

Steve growls and doesn’t let go of him. If possible, he holds him tighter. “It’s _been_ over Buck. It’s been over for almost half a year.”

Bucky inhales sharply through his nose. He looks up at Steve. “ _What?_ ”

Steve nods. “Yeah. The regime fell on April twenty-seventh. After six days of fighting.”

“Six… six _days_?” Bucky feels shocked. “You mean all the time I was… that we were in that place?”

“That bunker was their last holdout. It’s where they sent all the senior commanders who weren’t killed in the attack. We’ve been trying to locate it for months.”

Bucky exhales, feeling faint. “Steve,” he breathes. “Steve I need to sit down.”

His eyes widen. “Oh! Yeah. Yeah of course.” His hands find Bucky’s hips and he looks down at the bundle in his arm. “God, Bucky.” His face looks ready to crumple again. “Is that our baby?”

Bucky nods and smiles. “Yeah.”

Steve’s breath stutters. “Oh my god.” He stares at her. “Oh, _hi_ baby.”

“Steve, need to sit.”

“Yeah. Yes. Uh, here. C’mere”

Steve helps Bucky onto the jet and gets him down on a bench. Bucky nearly collapses. He feels light-headed, exhausted suddenly. Steve sits next to him and pulls him against his side and holds him there. Bucky shuts his eyes and leans against Steve. “I need to fall asleep now,” Bucky tells him without opening his eyes. “So that I don’t freak out or cry or...” he trails off, eyes dipping closed.

Steve squeezes him again, pets his hair soothingly. “You can sleep, Buck. I’ll be right here.”

Bucky snuggles further against Steve’s side. “We’re going somewhere safe?” he asks.

“We are safe, Bucky.” Steve kisses the top of his head. “I promise you.”

Bucky hums. “Hey Steve?”

“Yeah?”

“Her name is Sarah.”

Bucky doesn’t hear Steve start to cry because he really does fall asleep after that.

.oOo.

“So this is it,” Steve says as he guides Bucky into the apartment that he’s told him is theirs. “Home sweet home.”

Bucky can’t stop looking around with wide eyes. It’s an amazingly modern apartment in Stark Tower— _Stark_ Tower!—and it’s impeccably furnished and has high glass windows that look out over midtown. He gulps and bounces Sarah a little in his arm when she makes a fussy sound. “It’s amazing,” he says, completely meaning it. “You live here?” It’s a stupid question; Steve’s already told him he does.

“Yeah.” Steve comes up to stand by his side. They both look out the window at the view. The lights of Manhattan are dazzling in the night. “I know,” Steve says. “It’s hard to get used to. Sometimes I still feel overwhelmed by it.”

Bucky snorts. “Oh, I could get used to it.” He’s only seen the kitchen and living room so far, but already he knows that he _loves_ Steve’s apartment. “How the hell do you afford it?” he asks, immediately wincing at how that sounds. “I mean, uh, never mind. That was rude.”

Steve chuckles. “No it wasn’t.” He reaches and wraps his arm around Bucky’s shoulders. “I don’t pay rent,” he tells him.

Bucky balks. “ _What?_ ” He can’t believe that. He hasn’t seen the whole apartment yet but Steve said it was three bedrooms and Bucky’s already figured that a place like this has got to rent for at least ten grand a month. “How the hell did you manage that?!”

Steve laughs. “I work for Shield full time now.” He cants his head and amends, “Well, Shield special forces, anyway. Tony Stark is a benefactor and he uh, well he put out the offer for me to stay here. I didn’t refuse.”

“I don’t blame you,” Bucky says. “‘Shield special forces?’”

“Mmhm.”

“What’s that?” Bucky asks. “You’re still a spy?”

Steve huffs. “No. The demand for spies has lessened, thank God.” Bucky nods in agreement and Steve says, “No, I just work as an agent. Shield is contracted with the federal government now.”

“Oh,” Bucky says, because he doesn’t know what the hell else to say. “Well, that’s good. You like it?”

Steve nods. “Yeah. They do good work. It’s nice to be a part of something that helps people.” He removes his arm from Bucky’s shoulder and looks at him. “I’d like it if you stayed here,” he says. “With me. But you don’t have to.”

Bucky frowns as he thinks about that. The jet ride back to the city hadn’t taken more than twenty minutes, but he feels like an age has passed since he handcuffed Brock to that sink back at the compound. So much has happened in the last few hours. He can hardly believe that he’s free. That _they’re_ free. He glances down at Sarah. “This has all happened so fast,” he says, voice low because it looks like she’s close to falling asleep and he doesn’t want to disrupt that. “I don’t know what to think.”

Steve nods, looking sad. “Yeah. I can’t believe we found you. I thought you were dead.”

Bucky looks back up at Steve. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m sorry I left. That I let us get caught. I didn’t know what else to do. There were explosions going off in the neighborhood. And Becca… I thought I had to get her out. It wasn’t safe.” Bucky looks down, ashamed. “If we’d just stayed there, if I’d just listened to you, we wouldn’t have gotten caught. Becca would still be here and you’d have gotten to see Sarah when she was born.”

“Oh, Bucky, no,” Steve says. He steps forward and pulls Bucky into his arms. “Hey, no. Becca is fine. You did the right thing. All of it. I don’t blame you.”

Bucky only hears one part of that. He freezes and looks up sharply at Steve. “What?” he asks. “You know where she is?”

“Yeah. She’s here Buck. She’s safe.”

Bucky exhales, shocked and elated. “You found her?!”

“Yes.” Steve laughs and kisses the side of Bucky’s head. “I’m sorry. I should’ve told you that right away. You fell asleep on the jet.” He looks down at Bucky, and the look in his eyes is full of love. “She’s here. She’s been here with me for months. I found out where they took her a week after the regime surrendered, brought her home.”

Bucky sags. “Oh thank god. She wasn’t hurt?”

“No. She was perfectly fine.” He reaches out and strokes tender fingers along the side of Bucky’s face. “And now I have you back too. God, it’s unbelievable. When we rounded up the commanders and you didn’t turn up anywhere? I thought you’d been killed. I…” he swallows, face pinching. “I thought I’d never see you again.”

Bucky’s heart clenches at the look on Steve’s face. He presses into Steve’s chest again. “I’m fine,” he says. “We both are.”

At that, Steve takes a step back to look down at the baby that’s sleeping in Bucky’s arm. “She’s beautiful,” he says. “Perfect.” His voice is full of wonder, and Bucky melts a little inside. 

“Do you want to hold her?” he asks. 

Steve’s eyes widen. He looks up at Bucky like a five-year-old that’s been told they can have all the puppies. “Yeah,” he breathes. “Yes. Can I?”

Bucky laughs. “Of course you can. You’re her father.”

Steve makes a choked sound and— _dear lord_ —his eyes look watery. Bucky has to fight the urge to tackle him and squeeze him to death. He clears his throat that suddenly feels too tight with emotion. “Here,” he says, moving to shift Sarah towards him. Steve jumps forward and holds his arms out to receive her as if he’s being handed an armed bomb. He takes her into his arms with a sigh and a reverent look. “Oh,” he says. “She’s so tiny.”

Bucky smiles. “Yeah.” She’s actually a pretty good size for her age, he thinks, but in Steve’s large forearms she’s practically dwarfed. Bucky feels like his brain’s melting a little at the edges, at the sight of his alpha holding their daughter like that. He blinks, then blushes, realizing that he very much thinks of Steve as his alpha, even though the two of them aren’t bonded; haven’t even properly discussed it. Clearing his throat, he says, “Um, I named her after your mom. I hope you don’t mind.”

Steve looks at him. “What? Of course not. Why would I mind that?”

Bucky shrugs. “Well, we didn’t exactly discuss it. You missed out on the chance to pick a name.” He looks down at his feet. “I’m sorry about that.”

“Hey, hey.” Steve shifts Sarah in his arms and reaches out with his free hand to cup Bucky’s face and make him look at him. “You had no control over that. _I’m_ the one who should be sorry. I didn’t find you until now.”

“That’s not your fault. How the hell could you have known I was in some secret bunker?” He frowns at Steve. “You couldn’t have.”

“I shouldn’t have assumed you were dead. I should’ve—”

“Steve,” Bucky interrupts. “Shut up.” He looks down at Sarah in Steve’s arms again. “I’m just happy we’re here. And that you’re okay.”

“Yeah.”

Bucky chews his lip. “So where is Becca?” he asks. “Can I see her?”

Steve smiles widely. “‘Course. She’s in the nursery. Come on.”

-

“Oh,” Bucky breathes when they open the door and he sees her, sleeping in her crib. “Oh, she got big.” He feels his eyes sting with the threat of tears, _again_. He looks at Steve. “I’m so glad you found her.”

Steve smiles gently at him. “Me too.”

Bucky walks over to the crib and peers down at Becca’s sleeping form. Her breathing is easy, her chubby face looks healthy and her blonde hair has grown a little bit. “Hey baby girl,” he whispers to her. “I missed you.” She wiggles in her sleep but doesn’t wake. 

Steve appears at Bucky’s side, Sarah still cradled in his arms. Quietly, he tells Bucky, “She was at a foster organization when I found her. She’d been taken from the guardians who had her.” Maybe he can sense the way that Bucky tenses, because he hurriedly adds, “She wasn’t hurt, or scared. The people there were taking good care of her, just trying to find out who her parents were.”

“And they gave her right to you?” Bucky asks, worried.

“Yeah. I had to provide a DNA sample for them to test, but they let me take her home while they waited on the results.”

That makes Bucky feel better. Steve had said Becca wasn’t away from him for more than two weeks. Some of the guilt that’s lived in Bucky’s stomach for the past six months dissolves at hearing that. Not all of it, but some. “Thank god,” he says.

“Yeah. We’re all fine now.” Steve looks at Bucky tenderly. “You have no idea how relieved I am to have you back.”

Bucky smiles, is about to say something to that, but before he can a voice comes from the doorway,

“Stevo. Hey, welcome back. I was just chilling in my room. Heard you come in.”

Bucky glances over to the door, where the owner of the voice is standing. There’s a dark-haired girl standing there. She’s got glasses and a friendly expression, and she’s dressed in lounge clothes and slippers. Her honey scent tells Bucky that she’s omega, and that instantly puts him on edge. What’s another omega doing living with his… his Steve? 

She smiles at them. “Sooo,” she says, indicating Bucky with a nod. “Who’s he?” Bucky stares.

“Oh! Uh,” Steve shuffles Sarah in his arms and looks at Bucky with a grin. “Bucky, this is Darcy, Becca’s nanny.”

Bucky’s eyebrows raise. 

.oOo.

_Nine months later_

Darcy, as it turns out, is a lifesaver. She lives in the third bedroom of Bucky and Steve’s apartment and does basically everything to make Bucky’s life as easy as possible. Sometimes Bucky feels guilty for just _how_ easy she makes it. With two children under the age of three to take care of and his undergraduate studies back underway, it’s wonderful to have the extra help. Darcy becomes Bucky’s good friend.

It isn’t until Bucky has his surgery, however, that he honestly feels he might kill anyone who’d try to take Darcy away from him.

He’s sitting in the living room, on the couch, enjoying the buzz of his oxycodone and watching tv. He probably didn’t _need_ to take this one, but there’d been at least a _tiny_ inkling of pain creeping back in, and he’d figured, _fuck it_ : he’s in heat anyway and has to wait until Steve gets home from work to get any fucking relief, so he might as well use what the doctor prescribed him. On the rug in front of the couch, Becca is conked out, surrounded by her blocks. She’d thrown a tantrum, refusing her nap (Sarah, being a year old, had absolutely not). So Bucky had allowed her to stay up and play, and she’d predictably fallen asleep within thirty minutes anyway. 

Darcy is in the kitchen making them lunch, and Bucky is trying to distract himself from his heat symptoms by watching tv. CNN is broadcasting coverage of _The Gilead Trials_ , as they’ve come to be called. All of the commanders from the regime are being held accountable for their actions, charged with crimes ranging from treason to murder. Bucky himself has already been asked if he wanted the state to press charges against commander Putnam for sexual assault. At first he’d said no, thinking that it’d just be easier to forget about the whole, terrible ordeal; put it behind him. But then he’d been informed that the Putnam’s second vessel—a woman who’d been posted there after Bucky, _did_ want to pursue charges against him, and the case would be stronger if Bucky was on board too. So Bucky had agreed. Commander Putnam’s trial date hasn’t come up yet, but Bucky’s already been deposed and agreed to testify in court. It isn’t something he’s looking forward to.

On the tv now, the anchors of the program are discussing the prospects of the current trial with an attorney. Bucky’s got it on mute, and the subtitles are annoyingly delayed.

“Hey Buck?”

Bucky turns his head towards the kitchen, where Darcy’s standing by the stove. “Yeah?”

“You want ham on your grilled cheese?” she asks.

Bucky grins. “Hell yeah.”

.oOo.

Bucky’s mom skypes him that afternoon, and it’s another welcome distraction from his heat symptoms. “Hey sweetie,” she greets, smile plastered on her face. Becca is sitting next to her in the frame, and she fixes Bucky with an unimpressed look. 

“Where’s my namesake?” she demands.

Bucky turns the laptop that he’s holding around, tilting the camera down to show Becca, conked out on the living room carpet. He turns the laptop back around. “We had trouble agreeing on naptime today,” he says wryly. His mom laughs.

“Well I’m calling back tonight so I can say hi,” Becca says. “She never gets to see me.”

Bucky scoffs. “You’re going to be here in a week!” 

“Yeah, and that week’s going to _crawl_ by,” she says.

Bucky rolls his eyes, then addresses his mom. “You guys all set with the move? Do you need anything?” He’s already explained that his commander-turned-boyfriend is rich and can help with anything they might need, but Winnie has thus far declined. 

“Nope,” she tells him. “We’re all set.” Her face splits in another smile, this one even warmer. “Oh baby, I can’t wait to see you. Can’t wait to catch up. I’ve missed you so much!”

“Me too mom,” Bucky says. “Me too.” He hasn’t told his mom about the more gritty details of his life these past four years, and for the most part he doesn’t intend to. Becca might be an okay source to vent, but Bucky doesn’t want his mom to know. Knowing her, she’ll just wind up doing something stupid like blaming herself. Bucky knows he can’t hide the arm thing forever, and Winnie’s going to _freak_ when she hears that The Faithful cut it off, but the rest of it? The rapes and the beatings and the particicutions? Bucky doesn’t want her to have to carry that knowledge. 

“How are the babies?” Winnie asks, because she always wants updates on her grandchildren (she’s completely adopted Becca as her own). “Does Becca still have that ear infection?”

“Nope,” Bucky says, popping the ‘p’. “All is good, aside from the usual terrible twos bullshit.”

“Bucky!” Winnie scolds. “Not around the children!”

“She’s _asleep_.”

“I’ve got to leave for work soon,” Becca announces. Winnie looks apologetically at Bucky. “Yeah, and I guess I’d better get back to it. Got to have all these boxes packed by Friday.” 

Bucky nods and sends his mom a kiss with his hand—right, not left. “Kay. Talk to you later. Bye mom.”

“Bye sweetie. I love you.”

Bucky smiles. “Love you too.”

They end the call, and Bucky closes his laptop with a sigh. When he looks down to the carpet, Becca is blinking sleepy eyes open at him. “Well hello there, little Miss ‘no nap’,” Bucky says. Becca smiles at him and scrunches her face in a yawn, squirming to sit up. She looks around at her scattered toys, and after a beat decides to go back to playing with her blocks. "Bock," she says happily. Bucky just chuckles. "That's right. Block."

“Hey,” Darcy greets as she comes into the living room. She’s got Sarah in her arms and is feeding her from a bottle. Bucky eyes it. It’ll probably be one of the last ones they’ll have in the freezer before they have to switch over to formula. 

“She good?” he asks Darcy, indicating Sarah. 

“Oh yeah,” Darcy says. “Was pulled up on the bars when I went in there, ready to go. Little gymnast.”

Bucky smiles. Darcy seats herself in the big armchair that’s unofficially hers and asks him, “What’s good?” She nods at the tv. “Wanna watch something trashy?” 

Bucky flicks the tv on to scroll through the guide. Before he can pick anything Darcy’s yipping, “Oh! _America’s Next Top Model_.” She fixes him with a winning grin, “ _Pleease?_ ”

Bucky rolls his eyes but he puts it on for her. They watch it for two episodes, but halfway into the third, Bucky starts to get extra squirmy. He shifts in discomfort, unable to distract himself with the show any longer. “Hey Darce?” he says.

“Yeah?” She hasn’t taken her eyes away from the show.

“I think I need some private time,” he says meaningfully—she’s omega, she knows what he means. “You okay out here with them for a bit?”

Darcy snorts. “Yeah, don’t worry about it.” She gives him a wry look. “Next time tell your husband to take off starting the day _before_ you’re scheduled to hit heat.”

Bucky rolls his eyes, already heading towards his bedroom. “He’s not my husband.”

.oOo.

When Steve gets home from work, Darcy’s playing with Becca in the living room and Bucky’s got Sarah set up to cruise in her walker while he fixes dinner. 

“Steeb!” Becca yells when she sees Steve closing the apartment door. She struggles to her feet and toddles as fast as she can over to where Steve is, holding her arms high for Steve to pick her up. Steve laughs and bends down to do so.

“Hey cupcake. How are you?” 

“Papa,” she says, smiling up at him. She reaches up and cups Steve’s face with both her hands, making kissing sounds. Steve laughs and bends down to place a loud, exaggerated kiss on top of her head, making her shriek happily. 

Laughing, Steve carries her into the kitchen to see what Bucky’s doing. “Hey babe,” he says. He sees the drumsticks that Bucky’s glazing and his smile widens. “Oh my god, is that the honey chicken thing you made last week?”

“Mmhm.”

“Hey!” Darcy complains from the living room. “I made that. It’s _my_ nana’s recipe.”

Bucky nods, acceding, “Yeah. She taught me it.” He tells her, “Don’t worry Darce, you get all the credit for bringing honey chicken into Steve’s life.”

She’s gotten up and walked their way, headed to her bedroom. “Thank you,” she says haughtily, nose held high. “That’s all I ask. I’m gonna relax. Yell when dinner’s ready,” she says.

“You got it.” Bucky looks back to Steve. “Had a good day?”

“Ugh,” Steve says. Bucky raises an eyebrow and Steve says, “I mean, yeah. I just had lawyers calling me all day. Again. It’s hard to get my real work done with all these trials going on.” 

Bucky hums sympathetically. As a former (fake) commander, Steve has been called in to testify for _a lot_ of court cases. It’s part of why Bucky had given in and gotten on board for Commander Putnam’s trial. If Steve could do it a hundred times over, then Bucky could do it once. “Sorry,” he says anyway, trying to console his boyfriend. “Hey, guess what I got for dessert?”

“What?”

“…Cheesecake!”

Steve’s face lights up. Cheesecake is his favorite. “You made cheesecake?” he astounds. Bucky wrinkles his nose.

“Hell no.” He looks at Steve like he’s stupid. “There’s this thing—it’s called a grocery store…”

“Hardy har,” Steve says. He sets Becca down and goes around the island to stand behind Bucky and wrap his arms around him. “That smells amazing,” he tells him.

“Mm, thanks.”

Steve dips, puts his lips right by Bucky’s ear. “Almost as amazing as you.” His hips rub forward.

“Ugh.” Bucky squeezes his eyes shut and groans. “Don’t _do_ that,” he complains. “M’already in agony.”

Steve hums darkly. “You wet for me baby?”

“Oh, my god.” Bucky wiggles and shoves Steve away. He points towards the living room. “You, over there. Stay the hell away from me until after dinner.”

Steve grumbles unhappily but he does listen. He carries Becca into the living room and gets her settled with her blocks. “I know that chicken has to go back in the oven before it’s done,” he argues testily. “We definitely have time for a—” 

“No.” Bucky continues on with his cooking, now even _more_ aware of the throbbing in his body. “Darcy has to work late so you can ravage me the next few days,” he tells Steve, who has plopped himself on the couch and is grumpily flicking through the channels. “She’s earned a few minutes of peace and quiet before the madness begins.”

That seems to get through to Steve because he settles on the couch and picks a program to watch while Bucky finishes dinner.

.oOo.

Bucky has never seen Steve mow through a meal faster than he does that night. When they leave Becca and Sarah with Darcy and retire to their bedroom, Bucky makes sure to grab the bottle of antacids from the kitchen cabinet. 

“You feeling okay?” Steve asks him when they’re in the bedroom and he sees Bucky setting the bottle of pills on top of the dresser. 

“Yeah. But you might not be in an hour or so, piggy.”

Steve snorts. “I was in a hurry,” he says. He looks over at the bed and then looks back to Bucky, amused expression on his face. “Did you leave any blankets for the girls to sleep with?”

Bucky rolls his eyes. “Shut up,” he says, though he does blush. He _may_ have gone a little overboard with the nesting this month, but he couldn’t help it. 

Looking tenderly at Bucky, Steve comes over to him and pecks a kiss to his lips. “My good omega,” he says lowly. “So good.” His hands come up and he wastes no time in gripping the bottom of Bucky’s tee shirt and pulling it up. Bucky sighs as if put upon but he raises his arms right away so that the shirt can come off. Steve drops it to the floor and dips in to put his face in Bucky’s neck, inhaling him deeply and licking over his scent gland. 

Bucky groans. “God, I’ve been waiting for this _all_ day. It’s been awful. You know that?” 

“Yeah?” Steve asks, mouth already placing kisses and sucks along Bucky’s skin.

“Mm, yeah,” Bucky purrs. “Had to fucking dope myself up just to get my mind off it.”

Steve pulls back, reprimand on his face. “ _Bucky_. That stuff’s addictive.”

“Oh, shut up,” Bucky says. “It’s my narcotics and I’ll fly if I want to.” Steve snorts, and Bucky says, “the doctor says I can start back up on suppressants after this cycle, if I want.” 

Steve pets his hands along Bucky’s arms, up and down. “Do you want to?”

Bucky frowns, thinking about it. “I… haven’t decided.” He likes heat sex with Steve. Like, _really_ likes it. But it’s been kind of a pain to go through it every _single_ month for the past nine months. Now that Sarah’s weaned and Bucky’s been cleared to start back up on suppressants, he thinks that it might be nice to take a break. “Maybe,” he says, ending the conversation. “We’ll see.” He leans in and kisses Steve, pressing their lips together and enjoying the way Steve lets him take his mouth. When they part, Steve asks him,

“How about this?” His hand strokes down and back up Bucky’s left bicep, moving over to his pec and lingering gently where the metal meets flesh. “Any pain today?”

Bucky shakes his head. “I’m actually doing pretty good, pain-wise.” He’s down to one pain pill a day, usually, and one right before bed just in case. “Doctor says it’s healing perfectly. Works good too.”

Steve beams at him. “I’m so glad baby. You know that?”

“Yeah.” Bucky goes back to kissing him, this time making it deeper, more demanding. Steve gives into it easily, licking back into his mouth when Bucky starts using tongue. As they kiss, Bucky pushes Steve’s suit jacket off his shoulders, then pulls his shirt out from his pants. Steve groans into him, and Bucky pulls away and tells him, “Go sit on the bed.” Steve doesn’t look like he’s going to obey. His eyes are dark and he moves in to grab Bucky again, but Bucky stops him and gives him a push. “Un uh. Go. Sit.”

Steve huffs but he listens, backing away towards the bed, eyes never leaving Bucky. The look he gives him makes Bucky shiver with anticipation. That look very clearly says, “I’m going to fuck you till you cry.” Bucky can’t wait.

He walks over to where Steve has seated himself on the bed and stands right in front of him. “Take off your shirt,” he commands. Steve’s fingers immediately obey. He loosens his tie and yanks it over his head. He goes to toss it to the floor but Bucky stops him, grabbing it from his fingers. “I’ll take that,” he says. “Might be needing it later.”

Steve’s eyes widen in surprise, but then they become hooded with arousal and he groans. “Fuck, Bucky—”

“Keep going,” Bucky interrupts him, pointing at his chest. “Buttons.” Steve groans again, but his fingers go straight to work unbuttoning his shirt. Bucky grins and watches with lust as Steve gets his shirt undone, slowly baring his body to him. “God, you always look so good,” Bucky astounds. He throws the tie up on the bed, near the pillows, and reaches for the fly to his own jeans. He undoes the button and zipper, pulling his pants off without removing his gaze from Steve’s gorgeous body. “So fucking good,” he repeats. He doesn’t make a show of removing his own underwear, just gets the sodden things off himself as fast as he can. Steve reaches for his belt but before his fingers get there, Bucky’s batting his hands away. “Un uh,” he says, getting to his knees between Steve’s spread legs and reaching to undo the belt himself. “That’s my job,” he husks.

Steve tuts. “You’re in heat baby. Your job is to lay on this bed and let me fuck you to kingdom come.”

Bucky snickers. “Oh, you will. I want to get my mouth on your cock first, though.” He’s never told Steve verbally, but he really gets a thrill out of blowing him. Like: becomes _physically_ aroused from doing it. He hadn’t thought that was an actual, possible thing, but apparently it is with the right person because sucking Steve’s cock just _does it_ for Bucky. He gets Steve’s belt off and his pants and underwear around his thighs, and the sight of Steve’s cock, half hard against his leg, is enough to make Bucky’s mouth water. He stares at it and says, “Wanna feel you grow inside my mouth.”

Steve groans, his hands fisting in the bedsheets as if to restrain himself from reaching out and grabbing Bucky. His dick twitches. “You better hurry up if you want that,” he warns.

Bucky puts his hands on Steve’s thighs, leans in, and licks a fat, hot stripe over the length of Steve’s cock. Steve huffs a breath above him, and Bucky can smell the scent of his arousal rolling off him. “You like that baby?” he asks. Steve just whimpers. Smiling, Bucky uses his flesh hand to guide Steve into his mouth. He feels wonderful against Bucky’s tongue, firm and hot and twitching. Bucky suckles lightly and rubs his metal hand at the crease of Steve’s groin, humming. Steve firming up in his mouth while Bucky listens to him grunt and groan is probably one of Bucky’s favorite things in life. It is so satisfying, and so damned hot, that it has Bucky’s body releasing another rush of slick. Bucky squeezes his eyes shut as he feels it sliding down his thigh. He reaches back and gets a bunch of it on his hand and brings it forward. Steve’s fully erect now and Bucky pulls back and looks up at him with a smirk. He holds his slicked hand up, showing it to Steve. 

Steve’s lips part in lust. “So wet baby.” Bucky grins and nods. He reaches forward and wraps his hand around Steve, using his slick to ease the way. Steve moans loudly at the sight. “Fuck, that’s so hot. Fuck Bucky. Missed you so much. M’sorry I wasn’t here.”

Bucky chuckles, enjoying the view of his hand squeezing and stroking Steve’s cock. “I managed. Got some fun time in with my toy.”

Steve growls. “You didn’t.”

Bucky laughs and grips the top of Steve’s thigh with his metal hand. “That’s what it’s for, dummy. And since my alpha was too busy to fuck me, I made do.”

Steve growls again, only this time it’s louder and he’s hunching over to grab Bucky by the shoulders and yank him up onto the bed. Bucky yips at the sudden movement, slight pain flaring in his arm and very much displeased at having his fun with Steve’s cock brought to an end. “Hey!” he complains as Steve gets him laid out on his stomach on the bed and pushes him back down when he tries once to get back up.

“You stay where I put you,” he growls, voice like steel. 

Bucky’s asshole clenches and he whimpers at the tone. _God_ , he can’t wait to feel this man inside him. “Yes Steve,” he says.

Steve hums. “Good boy.” Behind, he places a kiss on Bucky’s shoulder, not too far from the edge of the bandaging that’s taped along Bucky’s incision line. “Gonna take you on your side, I think,” he tells him softly. “You think that’ll work?”

Bucky smiles against the bedsheets where Steve can’t see. His wonderful, considerate alpha. “Yeah,” he says. “S’long as I get to be the big spoon.” He’s joking of course. It’s fun to top sometimes but that’s just about the farthest thing on his mind during a heat. He needs to get fucked, and fucked good. Bucky makes a happy sound as he can feel Steve placing kisses down his spine, one by one. His beard scratching lightly as he goes. “Love your beard,” he tells him.

Steve hums. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Makes me want to call you daddy.”

Steve pauses in his kisses. “Bucky!”

Bucky cackles. “What?! It’s hot.” Steve doesn’t say anything to that, and Bucky can just imagine the massive blush that’s probably spreading over his face and neck right now. He decides to show mercy. “Weren’t you kissing you way along to somewhere?” he asks, only just barely refraining from tacking on the word “daddy" at the end.

Steve grunts. His fingers pinch Bucky’s ass cheek in retaliation, but it only makes Bucky giggle. When Steve’s reached Bucky’s tailbone and placed his final kiss there, he pulls away. His large, warm hands appear under Bucky’s hips, pulling coaxingly to get him to raise onto his knees and present his backside. Bucky does, not needing to be told twice. “Oh,” he breathes, once Steve’s got his face down there and Bucky can _feel_ his breath against his hole. “Stevie, Steve. Please. Eat me out.”

Steve rumbles some noise of approval and surges in. His tongue laps over Bucky’s hole once, twice, and then he’s pulling back with a tortured groan and telling him, “God baby, you’re soaked.” He surges back in and continues licking. Bucky’s muscles are loose and relaxed so when Steve starts thrusting his tongue against him, it slips in with little effort. 

“Oh, _god_ ,” Bucky chokes out, eyes squeezing shut and fingers digging into the blankets at the feeling. “Oh, oh. Steve. Fuck.” He fucks his hips back against Steve’s face, loving the feeling of his mouth there. “Feels so good baby,” he pants, the noise eventually turning into a whine when Steve holds onto his hips and digs his fingers into the meat of him. “So good, oh.”

Steve keeps at it, eventually adding a finger inside of him to curl and rub over his prostate. That brings Bucky to his first orgasm of the night, and he gasps and cries out as his release hits the sheets beneath. Steve comes up behinds him and draws him down to lay on his side. Bucky is indeed the little spoon, his right arm pressed against the bed and his left one on top. Behind him, Steve is rocking his hips against his ass, his erection a hard press between his cheeks. Bucky purrs at the feeling of it. “Yeah,” he tells him. “Gonna fuck me?” he says. “I want you to.”

Steve growls his agreement and brings his arm around to grab Bucky’s throat. He doesn’t choke him, but he holds him firmly, controlling. The feeling of it is divine and it makes Bucky’s toes curl. “Yes,” he hisses, pressing his ass back as much as he can. It undoubtedly gets his slick _all_ over Steve, but if the sound the alpha makes is anything to go by, he really doesn’t mind. “Now,” he tells Steve. “Please, fuck me.”

Steve lines himself up and presses. The second he’s slipping in, his hand flies back to Bucky’s hip, fingers gripping him harshly and pulling him back against his body. “Shit,” Steve curses. “So good baby. Your cunt is so fucking perfect.”

Bucky groans. It feels amazing, and Bucky _loves_ how filthy Steve can get to talking when they have heat sex. He hardly ever curses any other time. “Yeah?” he asks, pressing back into the rhythm that Steve’s starting for them. “You like it when I’m like this? Like me all loose and sloppy for you?”

Steve makes a loud, debased sort of sound and fucks into him harder. “ _God_ , Bucky. Yes. Loose, tight. Fucking love fucking you. All the time baby, all the time.”

Bucky grunts his agreement and fucks back against Steve and lets himself sink into the rightness of it. Steve’s right hand stays wrapped possessively around Bucky’s neck, the left on his hip, and Bucky threads his metal fingers through Steve’s and gets a real kick out if it when he looks down, catches sight of their twined fingers on his hip, and realizes he can _do_ that now. “Fuck,” he breathes. He fucking has two arms again. It’s wonderful and now Steve’s cock is in his ass and he’s fucking him so perfectly and Bucky just wants to reach down and jerk himself off along with it. He only hesitates for a beat before he decides, _fuck it_ , and reaches down with his metal hand to wrap fingers around himself. 

He only gets a few strokes in before Steve notices what he’s doing. “Baby,” Steve says, sounding lust-blown. “Oh, that’s hot.” Bucky hums in agreement. “Does it hurt?” he asks.

“No. Feels good.” It does. It’s not as good as his flesh hand would be but given that that’s trapped under his body, Bucky’s not complaining about the alternative option. He’s elated just to _have_ an alternative option again. Steve’s slowed in his thrusts as he watches over Bucky’s shoulder, and Bucky whines in displeasure at that. “Don’t stop,” he says. “I want it deep, and hard.” 

Steve, good guy that he is, obliges, starting up a slower pace of harsh, overwhelming thrusts. Bucky grunts a little with each one, and it’s got Steve’s cock rubbing against him in just the right way. It doesn’t take much more than another minute for Bucky to work himself into his next orgasm.

Once he’s come down from it, Steve holds him back against him and fucks into him faster, taking his pleasure from his body and getting closer to his own peak. “Come on Alpha,” Bucky groans, tipping his head further into the pillow. “Knot me, bite me. I’m yours.”

Steve growls loudly at the offer. Bucky’s put his neck on display in the middle of sex. Tipped his head and called him Alpha and asked him for his mark. There’s nothing more enticing he could have done, and Bucky knows it. Steve’s knot grows incredibly fast inside of him and Bucky whimpers as Steve holds him fast against his chest. The sound of Steve reaching his peak and crashing into his orgasm is amazing, and Bucky soaks it up and continues to offer his neck and beg for Steve to bite him.

“No,” Steve pants into his neck once he’s mostly come down from his orgasm. He licks over Bucky’s scent gland and give the tender spot a quick nip. Bucky whines at the feeling. 

“Yes,” he breathes, humping back where they're joined— _Fuck_ , but it feels good. “Do it. Take me. Bond me.”

Steve squeezes the hand he has at Bucky’s throat and fucks him in short, hard little pulls. “You take what you’re given,” he commands him, his Voice just barely peeking through. 

Bucky moans at the sound of it, at the feel of it slithering into his brain. “Yes, Alpha,” he pants. 

“You’re gonna come again for me, aren’t you?” Steve says. Bucky whimpers and Steve thrusts against him harder. “Come on Buck. Come on my knot. One more time.” He’s grinding himself against Bucky’s body, over and over again, working his knot over Bucky’s insides until he has no choice but to come again, the pleasure coiling up tight in his belly and releasing in a near-painful rush. 

“Oh, ah!” Bucky jerks, his body pulsing and throbbing in wave after wave of pleasure. Steve just holds him steady and fucks him through it. 

When they finish and regain their breath and are laying together, waiting for the knot to go down. Steve starts up a warm pattern of trailing his fingers over Bucky’s non-ticklish side. “Want to talk about it?” he asks.

Bucky knows what he means. “Yeah,” he says. “I meant it. I want it.”

Steve’s fingers pause, but then they start up again in their pattern. “Me too,” he says. “But I wasn’t’ going to do it in the middle of sex like that,” he says. “Hell, we probably shouldn’t even do it during your heat.”

Bucky growls. “Are you saying omegas can’t make rational decisions when they’re in heat?”

“No.” Steve huffs and pulls Bucky closer against him. “You know I don’t think that. I just think—” 

“Think we need to wait until I’m clear-headed,” Bucky insists, peeved but not really. “I’m clear-headed, Steve. I want it. Not going to change my vulnerable, omega, lust-slicked mind.”

Steve groans against the skin of his neck. “You’re a pain in my ass,” he says. 

“No I’m not.” Where Steve can’t see, Bucky is grinning. “But I could be a pain in your neck. If you do it, I’ll bite you back.” Behind him, he hears Steve’s sharp inhale. It’s not an inherently pleased noise, but the smell that floods off of Steve a second later is.

“Yeah?” he asks.

Bucky hums. “I’d want to.” It’s not something every couple does. An omega’s bite is just symbolic, but Bucky _knows_ that he’d get a lifetime of satisfaction from seeing his mark over Steve’s scent gland, a scar Bucky put there himself. Coaxingly, he rubs his hips back into their tie. Steve groans and his fingers dig harsher into Bucky’s hip. “Can we?” he asks. When Steve remains silent for a long moment, Bucky admits, “I’m never going to stop wanting it.”

Steve hugs him and presses his lips against the back of Bucky’s head. “You’re not?” he sounds happy, like he wants to believe it. Bucky knows the guy is stupidly gone for him. 

“No,” he says. “I’m not. I’ve already decided you’re it for me Steve.” He squeezes their fingers together, though he’s careful about it since he’s not exactly well-versed with the strength of his new hand yet. “I love you. Want to spend the rest of my fucking life with you.”

Steve laughs and holds him tighter, kisses the shell of his ear. “You know your mom’s right; you really are going to have to work on that potty mouth of yours. Pretty soon you’re going to have our toddler running around saying that stuff.” He nips Bucky’s ear. “I ‘fucking’ love you too, you know.”

Bucky grins and sighs, squirming in Steve’s hold. He’s warm and wonderful, and Bucky loves how every little motion makes him aware of where they’re joined. “So?” he asks. “Are you gonna?” He tips his head a little more, just to try and up his chances. Behind him, Steve chuckles.

“Soon,” he says, kissing right over Bucky’s scent gland. “When we go again and you’re feeling good. I’ll do it then.”

Bucky melts in happiness.

A couple of hours later, when Bucky’s heat fever has ramped up into another wave, Steve fucks him again. He gets Bucky to come three times, and when his knots swells and he gets Bucky to the edge _one more time_ , he sinks his teeth harshly into the skin over Bucky’s scent gland, biting him and binding them together, forever. 

.oOo.

_Three and a half years later_

Bucky’s on the phone with his editor when his phone pings with a text from Steve. He pulls the phone down from his ear to look at the screen.

_Steeb: What’s up? My secretary said you called. Sorry, I’m in a meeting or else I would’ve called right back._

Bucky puts his editor on speaker so he can still hear the call while he texts Steve back.

_Bucky: Want to have date night? I asked Darcy to stay late so we can go out to dinner. I made reservations at Sfoglina._

_Steeb: Sounds good babe. Sfoglina, huh? What’s the occasion?_

Bucky smirks where he’s sitting.

_Bucky: That’s for me to know and you to find out. Be home by six to get ready. I’ve got some big news._

Steve doesn’t text back for a long time. When he finally does, it’s just with a tentative, _…okay_ , and a smiley face. It might as well be a nervous face. Bucky knows how to tell Steve’s mood from his texts. He’s about to send some sort of reassuring message back to him, but then Bucky’s editor interrupts, snapping, “Are you even listening to me?”

Bucky takes him off speaker and lifts the phone back up to his ear. “Yes, Mr. Kowalski. Of course. …Yes, I think we should go with the plainer option. _No_ I don’t want my face on the cover.”

.oOo.

At dinner that night, Steve is silent the whole drive over. He’s trying to mask it and act nonchalant, but he’s practically buzzing with energy and Bucky can tell that he’s nervous. It’s nervous bordering on excited though, if his scent is anything to go by. Bucky holds his hand while they’re waiting in the front of the restaurant for the host to seat them. “Relax, babe,” he says. “It’s been too long. Enjoy this.”

Steve just smiles and kisses him on the cheek. His scent doesn’t change.

-

Bucky’s mowed through his salad and is sipping his iced tea as Steve picks at his first course and doesn’t stop staring at him. Finally, Steve breaks. “Okay, come on. You have to tell me. What is it?”

Bucky grins. “What?”

Steve makes a face. “Your big news. What is it?” 

Bucky shrugs. “Oh. I was going to wait till dessert to tell you. Don’t you think we should enjoy the meal, catch up first?” He fixes Steve with a sweet look. And holds his hand over the table. “We’ve both been working so much. I miss you. How was your day?”

Steve growls. “Why are you drinking iced tea?”

Bucky pauses. He blinks. “Um, what?” 

Steve nods at his glass. “That. Why didn’t you order wine? You always order wine.”

Again, Bucky blinks, taken aback. At Steve’s continued anxious expression, realization starts to dawn on Bucky. Steve’s been _so_ damned anxious. Bucky’s lips part in understanding. “Oh, honey.” He can’t help it, he cracks up. “Steve. No.”

Steve frowns, looking confused. “‘No’?”

Biting his lip to get himself to stop laughing, Bucky shakes his head. “Mm mn. No, I’m not pregnant.” Steve blinks, and then he gives an audible sigh. 

“Oh. You’re not?”

Buck shakes his head and chuckles. “No. Definitely not. That’s what you thought this was?”

“Well… yeah.” Steve looks sheepish. “You said ‘big news’.”

Bucky can’t stop smiling. He absolutely _loves_ his dork of a husband. “And your mind instantly went to baby?”

Steve makes the face he makes when he’s embarrassed and trying to recover—something that vaguely resembles a look of constipation. “Well, yeah. I guess.” He looks at Bucky curiously. “So it’s not a baby?”

Bucky laughs. “God, no. I am so not ready for that. Hell, _Darcy’s_ not ready for that.”

Steve takes that in. He reaches for the glass of wine that he _has_ ordered and takes a sip. “Well okay then,” he says once he’s set the glass back down. “What’s the news then?”

Bucky just shakes his head. “Nope. I’ll tell you over dessert. Now: how was your day dear?”

Steve groans and complains, but he does tell Bucky how his day went.

-

When the server sets Bucky’s panna cotta in front of him and Steve’s cheesecake in front of him, Steve immediately looks at Bucky with eager eyes. “Well?” he asks, not even picking up his fork.

Bucky raises his eyebrows. He’s _never_ seen Steve ignore a piece of cheesecake for more than 2.5 seconds. “You really want to know, huh?” he teases.

“Bucky, I swear to god…”

Bucky laughs. “Okay, okay.” He looks at Steve, happy and excited as he tells him, “I got in to MIT!”

Steve’s eyes light up. “Oh Buck, that’s amazing!” he grins and reaches over the table to squeeze his hand. “I’m so glad. Knew you would.”

Bucky grins. Steve had reassured him to the moon and back, but Bucky had still angsted about it. After they grin like idiots at each other for another long moment, Bucky sobers a little. “It’s not exactly close,” he reminds. “I got into Columbia's program too, you know. I could always go there.”

Steve shakes his head at him. “If you want to go to MIT, you go to MIT.” 

“But Steve,” Bucky says, “Your job is _here_. Our lives are here. I can’t just uproot us all for grad school.”

“Sure you can,” Steve says. “I can take a break from Shield. It’s not like your book isn’t going to keep us rich anyways, Mr. best-selling author.”

Bucky blushes. “Shut up.”

Steve just looks at him imploringly. “I mean it Buck. Where you go, we all go. It’s the best program, that’s what you said, right?”

Bucky shrugs. “Columbia’s good too.”

“Mhm. And I’m sure if I asked Tony he’d tell me to start packing your bags. Am I right?”

“…Maybe.”

“Buck, you’re a great engineer and you love it. I want you to be happy. You’ve got no idea how important that is to me.”

Bucky scoffs. “Kinda do.”

“And if MIT is what you want, then we’ll all go with you.” Steve shrugs. “I like clam chowder, and I’m pretty sure I can put up with the accents. Just got to make sure the girls don’t pick it up.”

Bucky snorts. “God. I love you, Steve Rogers.”

Steve smiles warmly. Even after all this time, he still looks at him like he hung the moon. “Love you too, Bucky Rogers.”

.oOo.

When they get home, Darcy’s on the couch and there are no kids to be seen. “They’re already asleep,” she tells them. “Thought you too freaks might want to get freaky, so I made sure bedtime was adhered to.”

Steve blushes and clears his throat, but Bucky just beams at her. “You’re the best.”

Darcy grins and gives him the thumbs up. “So?” she asks, and she’s addressing Steve. “He tell you?”

Steve nods. “Yeah. Sure did.”

Darcy grins and gets up from the couch. She starts walking towards her bedroom. “Cool beans. Gonna miss you guys so much. Remember: I get the apartment!” 

Bucky and Steve laugh and watch her go. “That’s going to be the worst part, you know,” Bucky says. He looks at Steve seriously. “The girls’ll be devastated.

Steve rubs his shoulders comfortingly. “They’ll be fine. I’ll be a stay-at-home-dad. They’ll love it.”

“Mm,” Bucky purrs, leaning forward to kiss Steve. “My little stay-at-home husband.”

“Well I don’t know about little…” Steve hedges. Bucky just laughs. He takes Steve by the hand and leads him back to their bedroom.

-

When Bucky comes out of the bathroom after having brushed his teeth, he sees Steve holding the mock-up of his book’s cover. “Oh god,” Bucky groans. “Throw that away.”

Steve looks up. He’s grinning. “What? You don’t like it?” The sample has a white background and red lettering, a big picture of Bucky’s face plastered on the front. “I think you look handsome. Real professional.”

“Hell no. I told Jared we are _not_ going with that one.” Bucky cringes as he sits on the bed. “I don’t want to see my face in the window at _Barnes and Noble_.”

Steve sets the paper aside and goes to join Bucky on the bed. He’s dressed only in his underwear, and Bucky can’t help but to reach out and touch his warm skin. Steve hums at the contact. “You know I’m really proud of you,” Steve says.

“Yeah?”

“Bucky, this book is… it’s a big deal. You worked hard on it. It’s really good.”

Bucky looks down, bashful. “I guess.” When he’d first been approached by the publishing company two years ago, he’d been shocked that anybody would want to read his story, let alone a whole frigging book about it. Bucky hadn’t been sure he was up to the challenge. Hell, he hadn’t even been sure he could fill up enough pages to _make_ a book. He’d reluctantly agreed to try, and once he’d started typing the words had just poured out of him. Before he’d known it, he’d had more material than he needed and they’d had to start editing out bits so that they could fit it within a reasonable amount of pages. Bucky had never considered himself a writer, he still didn’t. But he was proud of what he’d made. It was just strange sometimes, being made to feel important over something that he’d long just aimed to forget. Sitting next to Steve on the bed, he shrugs. “People want the gritty details. It’s supply and demand.”

Steve strokes his fingers over the back of Bucky’s hand. “Are you ready for your family to know all of it? Your mom?” 

Bucky sighs. His mom, Becca and Clair had moved back to New York. Trudy still lived in Toronto with her husband, but there were obviously book stores in Canada too. “I don’t know,” he says. “Guess I have to be. I warned them, a little. Told my mom that she could choose whether or not to read it, but that I’d prefer she didn’t.”

Steve strokes his hand up and down Bucky’s arm. “They love you and it’s all in the past. It’ll be okay.”

Bucky nods. “Yeah. I know.” He looks up at Steve. “I’m so glad I have you,” he says. His eyes trail over Steve’s body then, taking-in his mostly-naked form. “God, you’re gorgeous.”

Steve smirks. “So are you. Why don’t you get naked so we can be gorgeous together, huh?” Bucky snorts but he does stand up and get undressed. 

In their bed, they wind up making out for an inordinate amount of time. Steve goes into what Bucky likes to call “worship mode,” and he kisses and touches and licks just about every inch of Bucky’s body. Taking his time, rushing nothing. It’s something that when he gets it in his head to do, it’s better to just let him rather than fight it. So Bucky lays back, closes his eyes and enjoys the lazy exploration. 

Steve sucks him off, gets him to come once that way, then fingers him into another orgasm while rutting himself against his belly. It’s as Bucky’s recovering from this second orgasm that Steve looks in his eyes and tells him. “I want you to do it, tonight.”

Bucky feels his guts tighten in arousal. “Yeah?” he asks. They don’t do it that way very often, but when they do, Bucky _loves_ it. He reaches up and pets at the side of Steve’s face. “You feeling sweet tonight, baby?” 

Steve blushes but he nods. “Yeah Buck. Want to feel you in me.” He leans down, brushes their lips together. “You wanna do that?”

Their foreheads bump together as Bucky nods. “Hell yeah.” He wiggles under Steve. “Get the lube.”

Steve just smiles and shakes his head near-imperceptibly. “Naw. With you so worked up? Got everything I need right here.”

Bucky must frown or something because he doesn’t understand. That is until Steve reaches down and runs his hand along the cleft of Bucky’s ass, gathering some of the slick there. He brings his hand up to where Bucky can see, fingers wet and glistening in the room’s dim light. Bucky groans, dying a little inside. “Oh baby,” he murmurs. “You do the filthiest things.”

“The best things,” Steve corrects, rubbing his fingers together.

Bucky can’t argue that one. “The best things,” he agrees. He nods at Steve’s hand. “Turn around and get on your hands and knees. Want to see you do it.”

Steve smirks at the command but he does listen. He gets off of Bucky and Bucky’s able to just sit there and watch as Steve basically presents in front of him and reaches back to rub slicked fingers against his hole. “Jesus,” Bucky breathes, mesmerized at the sight. “I fucking love you, you know that?” Steve just hums, fully-focused on opening himself up. His body isn’t designed for it the way that Bucky’s is; it takes work. “This is the hottest thing I have ever seen,” Bucky tells him solemnly, voice quiet and low. “And that’s including porn.”

Steve snorts. “Yeah?”

“Uh huh.”

“You like watching me slick myself up with your juices baby?”

Bucky can’t breathe, can’t _think_ for a minute. “Where the hell did you learn to talk like that, Steve Rogers?”

“You know where,” Steve counters, and that makes Bucky smirk. Of the two of them, Bucky’s got the far filthier mouth. He’d had to train Steve into letting go in bed. “Buck,” Steve says, and he whimpers a little bit. He’s got two fingers in himself. “You want to help me out?” 

“Oh.” Bucky nods, even though Steve can’t see. “Yeah baby. Yeah.” He scrambles to get up on his knees behind Steve. Steve has his hand back under himself now and Bucky just can’t tear his eyes away from the glistening wink of his hole. “Fuck that’s hot,” he murmurs.

“Gonna be hotter when you finish this and sink into me,” Steve says, goading him. 

Bucky swallows. “Yeah.” Tentatively, feeling incredibly naughty as he does it, he reaches back behind himself and drags his hand through the mess of slick that coats his backside. Steve has just made this erotic in a whole new way and Bucky is going to have to think of a way to repay him for that one day. For now, he focuses on bringing his hand back around and spreading the slick along his fingers. He pushes two into Steve straight away, amazed all over again at how hot and tight he is inside. Every time is like the first time for Bucky, when they do this. Steve clenches around him and moans a little, and that spurs Bucky on. He thrusts his fingers lightly, making sure to curl them so that they drag against Steve’s prostate. “Feel good?” he asks, even though it’s obvious from Steve’s sounds that it does.

“Yeah,” he croaks. “Yeah Buck. Really good.” 

Bucky hums. “Touch yourself.”

Steve listens right away, and it’s as his shoulder is moving with the effort that Bucky pulls his fingers out, then slips in three. Steve grunts at the added stretch. “There you go,” Bucky’s saying, “doing so good. Look so damn good around my fingers like this Stevie. I love it that you let me fuck you, you know that?” Steve moans softly. “Not many alphas that’d do that,” Bucky says. “I don’t think. But you do.” He pumps his fingers, steady and slow. “You let me have everything. You _give_ me everything.” He bends over Steve’s back, kisses between his shoulder blades. “You take such good care of me.” Steve makes a plaintive sound then, and Bucky pulls his hand free. “Gonna fuck you,” he says, and Steve nods. 

Bucky sits back. Still feeling crazy-naughty for doing it, he reaches to get more slick from between his cheeks, using it to slick himself up. He shuffles up behind Steve and presses the head of his cock against him. He’s small. That might be one of the reasons why Steve so easily enjoys doing this. It’s certainly the reason why they do it doggy-style. Bucky’s equipment wasn’t exactly designed for deep penetration, after all. Bucky holds Steve’s hips. “You ready baby?”

Steve’s answer is to push back. Bucky’s cock slips inside of him and they both groan at the same time. “Oh, _fuck_ ,” Steve moans. “Bucky…”

Bucky’s gritting his teeth at the feeling of being inside Steve this way. It’s been so long, he’d nearly forgotten… He tries hard to hold still until Steve tells him he can move. “You okay?” he asks him.

Steve doesn’t answer right away. First, he tentatively moves his hips. Pushing back on Bucky and feeling him inside his body. “Give me minute,” he whispers. His voice sounds shaky. He keeps moving his hips, adjusting to the feeling of Bucky. His shoulder is still moving, and that’s how Bucky knows he’s still touching himself. 

Bucky waits patiently, petting his hands along the skin of his back. “So good Steve,” he tells him. “You’re so good.”

Steve grunts, and after another long moment he starts to pant, sounding more pleasured than before. “Okay,” he breathes, pressing his front half more firmly into the bed. “Okay. I’m ready.”

Bucky moans, and he starts to move.

-

Later, when they’re both wrung out and Bucky’s soft cock has slipped out of Steve, he spoons behind his husband and holds him close. Steve is rubbing the back of Bucky’s metal hand where it rests on his chest, and even though he can’t feel it the way he would in his flesh hand, it’s still nice. “Steve,” Bucky says quietly, kissing the side of his neck where his bond mark is.

“Hm?”

“About that baby…”

Steve’s head tips up a little. “You mean the one you’re not pregnant with?”

“Mm hm. That’s the one.”

“What about it?” Steve asks. There’s the hint of a smile in his voice. Bucky nips the skin of his neck.

“I’m not opposed to the idea,” he tells him. “I mean yeah, _now’s_ not a good time for it, but one day we could.”

Steve’s scent bleeds into happy, happy alpha smell. “Yeah?” he says.

“Yeah,” Bucky says. “One day we can make another baby.” In front of him, Steve makes a pleased rumble of a sound. Bucky holds him tighter and kisses his shoulder. “And in the meantime, we can get in lots of practice.”

“Mm. Sounds good babe,” Steve says, holding Bucky’s arms tightly around him. “Sounds real good.”

Bucky and Steve both fall asleep then, in their bed in their apartment in Stark Tower. In a world that is finally back to how it was always supposed to be. In their _After_.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [The Commander's Omega [Podfic]](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15817932) by [sarahyellow](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sarahyellow/pseuds/sarahyellow)




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